Somnambulist
by Joon
Summary: As Harry works on a new case, an old enemy resurfaces. As do painful memories. TVverse with SPOILERS for the entire series.
1. Chapter 1

"So…the devil made him do it?"

"For five hundred a day, Dresden, you should be telling me."

A side glance at Murphy let Harry know his attempt at levity had not been appreciated, despite the fact the lieutenant had not spared him a glance. Her dark eyes remained unhappily trained on the figure lying on the hospital bed on the other side of the window. The bed's occupant didn't look particularly satanic. True, he looked a little pale and a closer inspection would reveal droplets of dried blood still staining his neck that the nurses hadn't quite managed to wash off. To Harry, Jason Simms looked like an ordinary man, getting some shut eye.

But he had missed the show Simms had put on earlier that had involved copious screaming and the breaking of a lot of hospital equipment as well as a few staff noses before the doctors staff had sedated him. The wizard had also been spared the sight that the arresting officers had seen of Simms attacking and nearly murdering his wife of ten years in their apartment with a kitchen knife.

"Thank god for thin walls," sighed Murphy, tiredly. "If their neighbor hadn't heard, he would have made himself a widower," she said, nodding toward the sleeping figure. The already existing grimace deepened. "I can't believe he'd do something like this," she muttered, half to herself.

"You know him?" asked Harry, giving her a surprised glance.

"You've never heard of Jason Simms?" asked Murphy. "He's a writer. Children's books," she supplied when the wizard shook his head. "Anna used to love his stuff when she was younger. He wrote the Johnny Pike series." Harry gave her a blank look. "Kid archeologist? Goes on adventures with his uncle? Never mind," she waved off as Harry's blank look only doubled. "He just came out with a book of modernized fairy tales."

Harry's eyes fell on the restraints currently strapping Simms to the bed. "Yeah, not exactly your idea of a potential killer," he agreed. "And not that I don't appreciate the extra income, Murphy, but what makes you think this is up my alley?"

Taking the wizard's arm, Murphy led him away from the viewing window as a male nurse, who looked like he probably doubled as a bouncer on his off nights, passed by them to enter Jason Simms' room to check his vitals. Apparently, the staff wasn't about to send in anyone who couldn't lay out Simms in a single punch if necessary.

"The hospital's resident shrink got to see Simms when he was first brought in and before he went ballistic," informed the lieutenant as they approached the depressingly lit patient waiting area. The space was unusually empty of any other persons, allowing them to talk freely. "Simms wouldn't tell him why he tried to kill his wife, but according to the doctor, he kept repeating that demons were haunting him."

"Well, technically ghosts haunt," Harry corrected. "Demons just….lurk." That earned him a glare. "Murphy, he wouldn't be the first guy in history to say a demon made him do something crazy when all that was going on was his mind snapped."

"And what would explain a perfectly normal family man suddenly attacking his wife?" demanded Murphy.

"Family history of mental problems?" Harry guessed. "Maybe he and his wife were having problems?"

"Medical records ruled out guess number one. And I interviewed his wife," said Murphy. "Other than him feeling a little tired from lack of sleep over the past week, nothing was out of the ordinary with them. They were happy."

"You sure she wasn't lying? Maybe she was embarrassed about an affair or something."

"Harry, her husband tried to kill her. I don't think admitting to an affair would seem that big a deal after nearly getting your throat slit," said Murphy. "Look, I'm not saying his rants are real. I just want to cover all my bases. It might be that he's just nuts, but I'm not about to tell his wife to lock him up and throw away the key based on what I know now. Which is next to nothing."

The wizard nodded at that. Murphy had that determined gleam in her eyes. It was the look of someone completely and utterly convinced of a mission and from past experience, he knew not to challenge her on it. And Murphy was rarely wrong about people's character. If Simms' wife seemed genuine to her, she probably was.

"Okay," Harry agreed. "Can I talk to Simms when he wakes up? If I can get a better idea of what kind of demons he thinks he's seeing, maybe I can figure out if he's seeing a real one or not."

"Doctors think he'll sleep the rest of the night. But when he wakes up and is hopefully not trying to gouge out an eye, he's all yours."

"Can't wait," cheered Harry with as much energy as the flickering neon lights above them. "In the mean time, do you have the clothes and stuff he had on him when he was brought in?"

Murphy sighed. "I shouldn't be surprised at this point with a request like that, but can I ask why?"

Harry shrugged. "Covering all my bases."

* * *

"And he's claiming the devil made him do it?"

"No, no just demons," said Harry. He bunched up the empty plastic bag that had held the clothes and personal belongings of Jason Simms that the man had on him during his arrest and subsequent admittance to the hospital. They were all now spread out before him on the hastily cleared work table of the wizard's lab. "And he didn't say they _made _him do it," Harry added as Bob eyed the arranged display. "He just…you know…mentioned them."

"Mr. Simms would hardly be the first to make such a statement and be wrong."

"Yeah. Or the first to be right," Harry reasoned, laying out the last item. "It might not be demons. But something made him snap. Maybe something supernatural. Either way," said the wizard with mustered enthusiasm. "It's up to us to give the cops a lead. That's why we get paid the big bucks."

Bob rolled his eyes. "Really? Has the value of the dollar gone back a hundred years since I last checked?"

"You know what I like about you, Bob?" said the wizard, wagging a finger in the ghost's direction. "You're always practical about money. Being a ghost and not having to actually deal with cash for the last half a millennia hasn't deterred you at all."

"Someone has to be," Bob replied, dryly.

"Right, so let's get started," Harry waved. "Here's Simms' stuff. Give 'em a feel and see if you get anything."

"You might want to consider the implications of an ancient dead spirit being more financially pragmatic than yourself," Bob continued, ignoring the wizard's call to arms.

"Got it. On the list. Right here," Harry tapped his temple. "Now, Simms' stuff?"

With a heavy sigh, Bob considered the items laid out. Moving toward one end of the work table, he positioned himself to start where Harry had put Simms' shoes. The ghost needlessly flexed the fingers of his right hand to smooth out any phantom stiffness from joints that did not technically exist before he sunk them into the black shoe. After a few seconds, he moved onto Simms' khakis and then his shirts.

"Finding anything?" asked Harry.

"Yes. I'm discovering Mr. Simms has an appalling fashion sense," Bob concluded as he disdainfully pushed his hand through a top that looked like the result of breeding between a Hawaiian shirt and plaid. "Beyond that, nothing so far."

The ghost soon moved onto the items that had been taken from Simms' pockets, which included a cell phone and the house keys. The elegant fingers dug in last to the brown leather wallet that looked like it had seen better days. A frown faintly colored Bob's pale face as he kept his hand in the item.

"Got something?" asked Harry, seeing the look.

Bob didn't answer right away, extracting his hand. "Perhaps. You'll need to open the wallet. Lay everything out."

The wizard shoved aside Simms' offending shirt to make room. From the depths of the creased wallet, he extracted the typical objects one expected to find: a few credit cards with the major banks, a photo of his wife, and some cash with a few receipts mixed in amongst the green bills. Carefully, Harry laid out each item and watched as his former teacher slid his hand through everything before stopping at a small receipt.

The frown on Bob's face deepened as his fingers lingered on the scrap of white paper. "Here," he mused. "A trace…no….more of a stain, I think."

"Of a spell?"

"I can't be sure," the ghost admitted, keeping his hand over the receipt. "There's something…a residual or…" Bob trailed off, finally removing his hand. He stared at the printed slip, the frown now replaced by an unreadable expression. But before Harry got a chance to try and chisel away at the stony look, the ghost snapped his eyes up to the wizard. "This receipt. Where ever it came from, some sort of magic was involved. I can feel the mark it left behind."

Walking over to where Bob stood, Harry picked up the slip. The print was pale to the point of unreadable, though the wizard could make out that it was dated two days ago and the name of the establishment.

"Fallen Books," he read aloud. "It's a bookstore."

"Perhaps something happened there to cause Mr. Simms uncharacteristic violence."

Harry thought to make a crack about books being lethal tools, but thought better of it as it was most likely the ghost would take the joke at face value. It was kind of true in their line of work. Instead, he pocketed the receipt to find the store's address. He'd give Murphy a call tomorrow to meet him there.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Murphy maneuvered her car through the more cramped streets of Chicago as Harry in her passenger seat flicked through the very short file the lieutenant had begun to compile regarding her case. While nothing had been made conclusive, it seemed Murphy's superior was favoring a possible hallucinogenic drug angle to explain Jason Simms' unusual behavior.

"They're doing blood work on him this afternoon," said Murphy as she made a sharp right turn that nearly threw Harry against his window. "It's taking longer than expected. Something about having to flush the sedatives out of his system first. I've given your name in on the list of approved visitors if you want to interview him this afternoon."

"Thanks, Murphy," said Harry as he tightened his hold on his seat belt. Like most cops, Murphy enjoyed practicing her James Bond driving skills when she could. He slipped the report pages back into the manila folder to avoid accidentally scattering them all over the car, noting that Murphy had jotted down the visit they were about to make in her notes to Fallen Books. During the earlier part of their drive, the lieutenant had reported it was a used bookstore on the other side of town from Harry's place, currently owned and run by a Roland Bennett for the last six years.

After a few more two wheelie-like turns and several asphalt bounces that made Harry grateful he'd only had coffee for breakfast, they were there. The store was sandwiched between a small, cramped looking deli and a non-descript looking office that could have been for real estate agents or a tax office. The area itself looked grey and somewhat depressing, a characteristic that was highlighted by the man sitting on the curb just outside the storefront. He was enveloped in a scruffy black coat and a cloud of smoke as he took a doleful drags of his cigarette.

Harry kindly walked around the outstretched legs as he followed Murphy into the store. Inside, Fallen Books lived up to its name as the wooden floor was randomly littered with towers of slumped over books. Thick and thin paperbacks and hardcovers were haphazardly crammed into the shelves that were unmarked by any sort of signs to indicate sections. But despite the messiness of the area, the wizard found the actual look of the store to be unusually comforting, if a bit uncared for. It could have also done with an airing out the wizard noted. The air felt heavy and thick inside.

Murphy approached the single register desk that was currently being manned by a large, orange cat. It stretched itself over a large portion of the desk top and lazily opened its eyes as Murphy called out for Bennett. A few of the store's current patrons looked up from the books they'd been studying at the lieutenant's voice, but none responded with anything more than returning to their browsing.

"Hello?" Murphy called out again.

The door they'd just entered from banged open again as the man Harry had spotted smoking outside walked in, carrying the overpowering smell of cigarettes in with him.

"Hey, Roland," called an old man near the back of the store. "Pretty lady been asking for you."

At first glance, most men noticed either one or both things about Murphy: that she was very pretty or that she looked incredibly cop-like. Either way, they tended to try and straighten themselves up a little in her presence. Roland Bennett didn't bother with his creased clothes nor his dark hair that had last seen a brush almost two years ago. Harry watched him as he maneuvered his way around the piles of books to settle behind the desk. Roland didn't look much like a wizard, but if Harry were to measure wizards based on the attire and attitude of the High Council, Harry himself wouldn't look much like a wizard either.

"Are you Roland Bennett?" asked Murphy.

"Move," Roland grunted.

"Excuse me?" Murphy narrowed her eyes.

"Not you." Roland lightly nudged the cat at his elbow, who gave the dark haired man a superior look before dropping off the desk and landing with surprising grace, considering its size. It padded over to where Harry stood just behind Murphy and began to rub its body with great contentment against the wizard's legs, not caring of the orange hairs it was leaving behind. Harry shifted and tried not to trip over the purring animal.

Seemingly having taken care of shortage of desk space, Roland turned his attention to a small book he'd put aside. Harry inwardly winced as he could all but feel the irritation rise up in the lieutenant. "Are you Roland Bennett?" Murphy asked again. Her tone did not leave any argument that an answer was optional.

"Yes," Roland answered, shortly. His eyes flicked up briefly from his pages to look at her. "What do you want?"

"Lieutenant Murphy with the Chicago PD," she introduced officially. She skipped an introduction for Harry, but considering the wizard could tell that Murphy was now in a bad mood, he didn't press for one. "I've come to ask you a few questions regarding Jason Simms."

"Children's books are back there, third shelf down," Roland waved vaguely at an area behind them, keeping his eyes on his book.

"Mr. Bennett, this is regarding a serious matter," Murphy bit out as civilly as possible. "If you could put the book down for a moment?" Roland lowered his book, but he looked more put out than troubled by Murphy's words. "Do you know Mr. Simms personally at all?"

"Is he dead?" asked Roland, flatly.

Both Harry and Murphy blinked at the question before Murphy quietly commanded, "Answer the question, Mr. Bennett."

Sighing, Roland leaned back in his seat. "He comes in here every once in awhile. He does research for his books and asks me to special order him some stuff every now and then."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

He shrugged. "No idea."

"Are you in the store everyday?"

"Yes, but I don't tag and track my customers, lieutenant," Roland answered. There was an unpleasant stressing of her title. "Yesterday, last week, who the hell knows?"

"How about two days ago?" Harry suddenly asked. He pulled the dated receipt from his pocket and pushed the paper forward to Roland. The wizard felt Murphy's irritation only worsen at his interruption, though she remained silent. Harry watched for any reaction as Roland took up the receipt and stared at it before glancing up at the deliverer.

"And you are?" he demanded.

"Harry Dresden. I'm-"

"A consultant," Murphy supplied, quickly. "For the police department."

Roland made a disparaging sound before shoving the receipt back at Harry. "Fine, two days ago," he agreed.

"How did he seem when you saw him?" Murphy pressed. "Think very carefully before responding, Mr. Bennett." There was the unspoken threat of verbal carnage should Roland answering flippantly again.

Finally Roland seemed to sense the seriousness of the situation or at least acknowledge that his cooperation might at least make them disappear faster. He stared off for a moment, as if trying to call back a distant memory before he replied. "He seemed fine. Looked a little tired maybe, but he was working on a book." Roland squinted. "He'd complained a little about not getting much sleep."

"But nothing out of the ordinary?" said Murphy.

"No, nothing."

As much as Harry tried, he couldn't get a read on Roland. The man was hardly charming, but he didn't look necessarily dangerous or evil. Then again, the wizard knew he didn't exactly have a sterling record when it came to picking out a villain from a crowd. The fact that the room was reaching a somewhat stifling level wasn't helping matters. Harry felt like his skin was being coated with a layer of wax as the heaviness of the air surrounded him. He bit the inside of his mouth and forced himself to not run outside in the middle of an interview.

"What's Simms done?" he heard Roland ask with interest for the first time.

Before Murphy could respond, the front door banged open again as tall woman breezed through. She looked almost 60, but most likely passed for 40 from far away or in dimmed lights. She gave a pleasant, theatrical wave toward the three of them.

"Rollo!" she called. "I'm here for Mrs. Havisham." Her accent reminded Harry of Bob's. Only this woman's seemed completely untainted by any prolonged residence in America.

Her entrance seemed to break Roland from whatever momentary bout of interest he was having about Simms and he quickly reverted back. "She's whoring herself over there," he said, indicating where the orange cat was happily rubbing herself against Harry's calf.

"She obviously has excellent taste," the woman stated, giving Harry what appeared to be a flirtatious wink as she scooped up the feline. The wizard gave her an uncomfortable smile back. "Mrs. Havisham misses all the love she used to get, don't you?" she cooed to the overflowing mass of fur. "You don't pay nearly enough attention to her, Rollo."

"Whatever," Roland dismissed.

"We can't all be isolationists like you," she continued with a good-natured air.

"Charlotte, just take the damn cat and go, will you?" demanded Roland. Strangely, the woman seemed to take little offense at the tone and looked more as if she was used to this kind of attitude.

"Whatever you say, dear. I'll just pop over and say hello to Mr. Fenn first, shall I?" she said, gliding back where the old man from earlier was meeting Charlotte's approach with an eager smile.

"Are we done here?" Roland asked Murphy, this time giving her a steely, uncompromising look of his own.

"Don't be rude to customers," Charlotte chastised from Mr. Fenn's side.

"They're not customers," Roland corrected, giving them a glare. "They're cops." He said it like it was a profession akin to slave traders. "Are you done?"

Five minutes later, Harry was happy to be breathing in fresh, albeit Chicago city, air again. He took in deep lungfuls to clear his head as he crossed the street with Murphy to go toward the car.

"God, I want to kill him!" Murphy exclaimed, angrily. "Not to mention you," she added. "What was the point of that? Other than getting my mood wrecked for the rest of the day?"

"A hunch," Harry said absently as he watched Charlotte exit the store with an armful of cat. She spared one arm to give Harry a wiggle of her fingers when she spotted the wizard, which he awkwardly returned.

"Hey, mind pausing in your flirting to give me a little detail on this hunch?" Murphy demanded.

"Something happened to Simms when he was in that store," Harry stated. "I'm sure of it. There's something wrong about that place. Couldn't you feel how bad the air was?"

"It smelled like any used bookstore in there, Harry. Moldy and dusty."

"It felt like…I don't know. Slime or something was being plastered on," said Harry. "My skin's crawling."

Murphy rolled her eyes. "Take an anti-histamine," she suggested as her cell rang. "Murphy," she answered. Harry noticed her eyes darken at whatever she was being told. "Okay, got it. Give me ten minutes." She snapped her phone shut with a grimace. "I need to go. You need a ride to the hospital to see Simms?"

"What's wrong?"

"Body found downtown. Kirmani's already there. Hospital?" she asked.

Harry looked at Fallen Books again, feeling a strange desire to stay and figure out what exactly was off about the place, though his body was screaming at him to get away. For a chance of pace, he decided to listen to his body. "Sure, thanks." He climbed into the car and buckled his seatbelt in preparation for another death teasing ride. "Murphy, you think it's possible to run a check on Roland Bennett? See if he's got a record or something?"

"Harry, I just wasted my afternoon running down here with you to talk to some guy that Simms bought books from who had less to tell us than Simms wife," she replied, keying up the car. "I hate the man, but why would I do a check on him?"

"Something doesn't feel right."

"Another hunch?" Murphy sounded less than pleased. "How about you talk to Simms first before you run a second hunch by me."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but as Murphy gunned her way down the street, he quickly shut it and only nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry gave a quick prayer to any god that was listening, thanking the deity for allowing him to arrive at the hospital in one piece. The mood Murphy was in had not done much to dampen down her race car driving tendencies. Harry's light, but constant badgering that the lieutenant run a check on Roland Bennett hadn't improved anything, but the wizard considered it a win when Murphy said she _might_ look into Bennett _if _she got time after she wrapped things up at her new crime scene.

When Harry was allowed access to Jason Simms' hospital room, he noticed the writer of children's books that brought joy to so many was still restrained to his bed by thick leather straps. As the wizard approached the bed, he saw that Simms' eyes were open and darting around the room as he if he was seeing something invisible to everyone else. By the time Harry was by his bedside, Simms still hadn't glanced at him.

"Mr. Simms?" said Harry, softly, noting the wince on the man's face at his voice. The wizard had a hunch that if Simms' limbs had been released, he would have curled up into a fetal position. "Mr. Simms, my name is Harry Dresden. I consult for the police."

"I know…you're here," replied Simms, hoarsely as the wizard lowered himself onto a chair by the bed. Simms blinked slowly and tilted his head a little to get a better look at his visitor. "I didn't want to hurt my wife," he added as an afterthought, not earning many points with Harry.

"Then why did you attack her?" he asked.

Simms blinked again as if to clear his vision. A frown formed on his pale face. "It wasn't to hurt her. I love Kathy," he stated, sounding nearly sane had it not been for the fact that his actions in the past few days were far from otherwise.

"Mr. Simms, you held a knife up to her throat. If your neighbor hadn't called in the police, she'd be dead."

Simms nodded in agreement, giving Harry a blank look. "I didn't want her hurt."

Frowning at the comment, Harry leaned a little closer. "Was someone going to hurt her if you didn't kill her?" he asked.

Simms laughed shortly, the sound sending an odd chill down Harry's back. "She has to hurt all the time. I hurt all the time," he said around his laughter. "Life hurts all the time. How could I let it go on and on like that?" The question ended in a sob as Simms turned his head away from the wizard, burying it into his pillow. "I scared her, but…it's all around us. We need to get out. We need to die and end it. I need to die and end it!"

"Mr. Simms, please calm down," Harry tried, somewhat unsuccessfully as Simms began to cry. Not being very good in front of a crying woman, Harry did worse in front of crying man, sitting in awkward silence before attempting to press forward. "Mr. Simms, it'll be alright," he said, taking a stab at comfort. When Simms didn't reply, Harry listed that as a positive sign. More due to the fact that it wasn't necessarily a negative sign. "You mentioned to the police that you've been seeing demons?"

"They follow me everywhere," Simms murmured through his tears. "They only came to me when I slept, but…I can feel them all the time."

"Can you…maybe describe to me what they look like?"

Simms made a disparaging sound, his face hidden. "You don't believe me. Who believes in demons?"

"I do," Harry promised. "If you could describe them to me, I might be able to help you." Simms didn't reply. "I might be able to figure out a way to get rid of them. It might help with your pain

Simms laughed again. "You think those two cause this?" he demanded. "Haven't you been listening to me? My life is what hurts me!" He snapped his gaze back to the wizard, who flinched despite himself. Simms' eyes were laced with a kind of unrelenting madness that Harry only now realized appeared to have taken permanent residence. "I need to end! I need to end and it'll all stop!" Simms shouted. "How can you stand it here? How can Kathy stand it? I only wanted to help her."

The sobs returned again, though this time the former author made no move to try and hide his face. He ignored any attempt of Harry's to try and get more information or even comfort the distraught man. In the end, the wizard had little choice, but to go.

* * *

While Bob realized he hadn't spent that many years with Harry when one considered the ghost had existed for nearly a thousand years, he still felt he'd been around his former student long enough to be able to judge his moods based on body language.

And Harry's current body language that included him kicking his door open and slamming it shut while throwing his jacket off with a sharp sigh, indicated that the wizard was frustrated.

"Bad day?" Bob inquired, walking to join the wizard at the storefront. Though said sardonically, the tone wasn't mocking.

Shoving the abused leather coat over the arm of his sofa, Harry slid down with a snort. "Just visited a bookstore that would have freaked out Vincent Price and topped off the afternoon by talking to a deranged man."

"How eventful," the ghost agreed.

The memory of how he'd felt in the bookstore made Harry shake off a phantom cobweb. "There's something up with that store," stated the wizard, getting Bob's attention. "It started to feel like I was taking an oil bath while I was in there with a dirt scrub."

Having long suffered mental agonies over Harry's lack of housekeeping, the ghost speculated either the bookstore was unusually dirty, or there was something magical about the location. Being a wizard, Harry would be more susceptible to sensing a supernatural stain on an area that most others would remain unaware of.

"Do you still feel it now?" asked Bob.

"No, not really. It went away when I got out," said Harry, rubbing his hands over his face. "Owner's a real bag of laughs too," he added, thinking on the less than friendly Roland Bennett.

"What about Mr. Simms? Did you get a chance to speak with him?"

"Yeah." The word spoke volumes. "I'm not sure I can help him."

Bob frowned at the depressed expression on Harry's face. "You don't believe the demons he saw were real?"

"He might not be seeing real demons now. But something did happen to him," Harry replied, darkly. "Something happened to him when he went in that store, I know it. But whatever it was, it made him the way he is now. He didn't try and kill his wife because demons told him to. He said he did it to help her."

"Delusional persons tend to make little sense, Harry."

"Maybe. But I don't think Simms is going to get better even if I figure out what made him like this."

While it wasn't unusual for the wizard to enter dark moods from time to time, Bob found Harry's pessimism of Simms' future to be unusually premature. "Perhaps there is still hope for Mr. Simms," the ghost suggested. "These demons he claims to see could be real. If you are able to exorcise them, he may return to normal. Did he describe them at all?"

"Only that there were two," answered Harry, still looking angrily dejected. "Even if they are real, that wasn't the problem." The wizard crossed his arms, half in thought and half in a unhappy brood. "Simms' is in pain. He kept saying his life was giving him pain, not the demons."

Despite being invulnerable to any physical ills, Bob suddenly felt the phantom echo of nausea weakly vibrate throughout his non-existent body. A distant memory, like a grub, wriggled its way to toward the surface of the ghost's mind at Harry's words. Noticing the change in the air, Harry looked up to where the spirit stood in pale silence.

"Bob?"

"What did Mr. Simms say to you?" he asked. The wizard shifted a little under the intense look Bob was giving him.

"He said he was in pain. All the time," he answered, his brow furrowing at the ghost's sudden shift in mood. "Why?"

"Is that all he said?" Bob pressed.

"He said it wouldn't stop until he 'ended.' " Harry quoted. "He needed to end and then it would stop." The words only seem to deepen the look of dread on the ghost's face and for some reason, the expression struck the wizard as familiar. "Bob? What've you got?"

But the spirit remained silent, his eyes having shifted away from the wizard as if in thought, though his expression was no less dismayed. The small memory sharpened and pierced toward the front with painful insistence. While Harry continued to stare at him, Bob found himself momentarily lost in the recollection of something he'd at one point both longed to forget, but couldn't bear to let go. Lest he let go of her. Because even as her tear-stained face, contorted in madness only tortured him, he had to cherish every memory of her.

_"I need to end, Hrothbert. Please. Please, if you love me, let me end. It will only stop when I end."_

* * *

"Jason Simms is in the hospital."

"I know. I read about his little breakdown in the papers this morning. Oh, don't worry," she assured, seeing the look of panic. "I'll only need to use him one last time. He'll survive until then."

"But that woman from earlier. Aren't we getting enough people? I thought you were going to spread it out. That woman died-"

"As she was supposed to. The store's given us more than what we need. It's not a question of numbers, but compatibility. Don't worry about the details. That's why you have me. Now here," She handed over a small cup she had prepared. "How's it coming along?"

A small smile slowly formed. "He's asking more questions. Is that good or bad? I haven't said anything to him and he seems okay with that. But I didn't know if at this stage if that was good."

"Of course it's good," she answered with a confident pat of the hand. "It means he's getting stronger. And that his mind is so far unaffected by what's happened."

"When will he be ready?"

"Very soon. The spell is nearly ready and you'll have your son before you know it. Now, drink up. Bed's ready for you like before. Pleasant dreams."

When her client was gone, she stared down at her bowl where the mixture that had been simmering since earlier that evening glowed and the lives of the Fallen Books patrons glimmered up at her in a collection of familiar sparks. Reaching in, she let her fingers sink into the liquid, caressing the clusters of light, searching.

"Pleasant dreams," she murmured again with a calculating smile.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning brought Murphy some relief that it was a new day. Granted, the cases were far from new, but a night's sleep had helped the lieutenant at least clear her mind. The rest of the day before had been taken up wrapping up the unfortunate death of Eileen Frost. The case looked simple enough. The woman was found dead in her apartment after her sister had worried after Eileen failed to return any of her calls for the past week. The woman was found in her bathtub with her wrists slit. Based on the accumulation of her mail, Eileen had been dead for over two days. Nothing about the apartment suggested foul play, but Murphy had ordered a sweep to be done of Eileen's apartment one more time, just in case.

"Lieutenant," Kirmani called, walking over to her desk.

"Hey, any news on Eileen Frost's place?"

"No, they're still working on that. Listen," he continued, grimly. "St. Andrews called. Jason Simms is dead."

"What? What the hell happened?"

"He bit his tongue clean through last night. Doctors tried everything, but he bled to death."

"Did he have a seizure?"

"Doctors don't think so," answered Kirmani. "They're guessing suicide right now. Apparently, a patient they'd kept in restraints last year did same thing."

"Christ," Murphy muttered. Technically, this closed the case for her in terms of Simms fate. No one could institutionalize or jail a dead man. But the news did not relieve her one bit. Suddenly, the file she'd started on Eileen Frost a whole lot heavier. "Okay," she said. "Let me know when you have news on Eileen Frost's place."

Kirmani nodded. "Got it."

"Also, run a check on Roland Bennett. He runs a used bookshop downtown," Murphy ordered, scribbling down the name for him.

Taking the sheet of paper, Kirmani gave her a confused look. "What's this guy have to do with anything?"

"Just a hunch," said Murphy, echoing a certain wizard. "Let me know what you find." Picking up her phone, the lieutenant dialed Harry's number.

* * *

As Harry's old fashioned rotary phone trilled incessantly at his office before a wheezing answering machine finally picked up, the wizard in question was sitting in his Jeep, eyeing the front entrance of Fallen Books. A night's sleep had done little to ease the wizard's mind of anything. While studying the store, his mind kept wandering to his conversation with Bob last night. Or rather, the non-conversation. 

Harry was sure that there was something going on with the ghost, but any questions he'd attempted after Bob had shaken himself out of whatever troubling reverie he had been lost in, had been met with artful dodging. The wizard was used to the secretive nature that sporadically took over Bob, but there was something about the ghost's expression that had been familiar, though he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

Impatiently, Harry shoved the nagging feeling in his mind aside for the moment and attempted to focus on the task at hand. He had to figure out what was going on at the bookstore. Direct questioning of Roland was probably not going to get him anywhere. If he was guilty of something, he probably wasn't going to react in the friendliest of manners. Not that Roland was friendly to begin with.

From across the street, the door to Fallen Books swung open and Harry saw the familiar, regal shape of Charlotte exit, dragging a large suitcase with her that she definitely had not walked in with. In her other arm, she clutched a bulging shopping bag. Long velvet skirts billowed behind her as she navigated across the street, two cars away from Harry's Jeep. By the time she struggled to hoist the heavy suitcase up the small porch of an apartment building, Harry saw the chance and was out of the car, running over to her.

"Give you a hand?" offered Harry.

Looking up from her labors, Charlotte immediately gave a recognizing smile. "Mrs. Havisham's favorite police officer," she identified. "How lovely to meet you again."

"Harry Dresden," supplied the wizard, taking hold of the large suitcase. It weighed as if Charlotte had packed bricks in it, but he managed to get it up the few steps without showing too much strain.

"Lovely to meet you again, Mr. Dresden," she repeated, holding the door to the entrance open. "Charlotte Barquentine. Oh, so kind of you to help me. Books I'm afraid. Rollo let me take so many. Made the case terribly heavy." She watched Harry pull the suitcase through without complaint. "Very gallant. You give me hope that chivalry will march along yet."

"Actually, I'm kind of bribing you," Harry admitted.

Charlotte raised an elegant eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I need to get some information about Roland Bennett. I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions."

To his surprise, Charlotte gave an amused laugh as she pressed for the elevator. "You tell the truth. How wonderfully rare. Even rarer than chivalry these days. Although, I can't imagine what you'd want with Rollo. I know he's not the most amiable person, but he's a very dear man underneath that cloud of his. And I'm an excellent judge of character."

"It's actually regarding one of his regular customers," said Harry. "I can't really tell you too much about it, but knowing a little bit about Mr. Bennett's movements, habits might help me."

"Well, he's never been in trouble with the police as long as I've known him. Not even a parking ticket."

"How long have you known him?" asked Harry. He kept his hand on the suitcase, as if it gave him more legitimacy to continue his questioning. The gesture didn't appear lost on Charlotte, but she allowed it, holding the elevator door open so that the wizard could carry the case in.

"I've known Rollo for over a decade. He came to work for my fourth husband when the shop was still his," said Charlotte as the elevator lurched upward. "We actually used to live over the place."

"When did Roll…Roland," Harry corrected. "Purchase the store?"

"Oh, he didn't purchase it," said Charlotte as they got off on the fifth floor. "Howard left him the store in his will."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. About your husband, I mean."

Charlotte laughed amusedly again. "How sweet of you, but really Mr. Dresden, that was years ago. And besides, Howard and I were no longer married when he passed away. He was a lovely man, but I never do learn that marriage is not my area of competence." Pulling out a colorful set of keys from her long coat, she unlocked her apartment door. "And Rollo was the perfect choice to take over the shop. He reads more than any person I know. Before Ethan, he was well on his way to finishing his graduate degrees."

"Ethan?" asked Harry.

"Won't you stay for tea?" Charlotte suddenly asked, as she threw open her door and let Harry pass by with the suitcase. "I do find it lonely sometime to eat here on my own, especially now that the most of my things are packed."

The sudden change in subject along with what Harry was starting to discern as Charlotte's characteristic patter threw the wizard off for a moment. "Um…that would be nice. If it isn't too much trouble, really," he replied, caught between manners and needing to continue his inquiries.

"Not at all," Charlotte waved in. "Come inside. Mrs. Havisham!" she called. "Your favorite police officer is here."

The large orange feline nearly knocked Harry over as he came in through the entrance. She purred contentedly as her large tail the size of a duster whacked Harry's legs. The wizard tried his best to walk around without stepping on her or falling on his face. "Sit down and make yourself at home, Mr. Dresden," instructed Charlotte, warmly. "I'll just put the kettle on."

Charlotte Barquentine's apartment felt nearly the opposite of Fallen Books. It was empty of most of the furniture and there were boxes in various corners. Still, the place had an airy, open quality to it that was appealing. Much like Charlotte herself. The only thing that decorated the walls were several photographs. Peering at one, Harry saw it featuring a much younger Charlotte with the arm of happily smiling man around her shoulders."

"My first husband, Charlie," Charlotte said as she came back from her kitchen, dusting her hands. "He was a writer himself actually. Plays mostly. He still does it. I think his newest will be opening in London this spring. I must go see it when I'm there."

"Are you moving?" asked Harry, indicating the boxes.

"Yes, it's back to England for me in two days," Charlotte answered with a wistful smile. "First time I'll be living there since I was a young girl."

"Really? Your accent made me think..."

"My vocal exercises," said Charlotte, happily. "It always helped me keep my voice. I never did forget them even after I stopped acting. I did so enjoy living here, but you know, as you get older, you realize that you can never stray too far from home. Not that you'd feel that way now, of course. You're still a young man. Married?"

Harry blinked at the quick question. "Uh, no."

"I recommend it," Charlotte said with serious consideration. "One lives longer when married."

"I'll…keep that in mind."

"Please, sit down."

The wizard took one of the only two chair still in the living room. As he did so, Mrs. Havisham eagerly jumped onto his lap and stretched out, virtually pinning him in to the seat. "You were telling me about Ethan?" Harry prompted, over the sounds of Havisham purring.

"Oh, yes, Ethan. Such a sweet boy." A genuine look of sadness crossed Charlotte's face as she took the other chair, opposite from Harry. "He was Roland's son. Very smart like his father. He read almost all the time as well. And he was wonderfully sweet like his mother."

"Where is his mother?" asked Harry.

"It's all very unpleasant business. Natalie worked in the book shop along with my husband and Roland. Oh, she was ever so sweet. And vibrant. That girl could light up a room, walking in. I think I still have a photo of her." Charlotte scanned her wall before selecting a small one to hand to Harry. Somewhere in the kitchen, the kettle shrieked and Charlotte left Harry to study the photograph. It was a photo of a younger Roland Bennett with a book in his hand as a pretty young woman was placing an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. It was taken inside the bookshop, judging from the desk Roland was sitting in. It was obvious that Natalie had apparently interrupted Roland's reading, but he didn't look very bothered and had his face and eyes tilted toward her.

"Here we are," Charlotte returned with a flourish. She carried a large tray with a large teapot and several small sandwiches and pastries.

"When did you make all of these?" asked Harry, staring at the load.

"I'm British, Mr. Dresden. It's in all of us to cook tea in under five minutes if we must." She poured a steaming cup for the wizard. "Sugar?"

"No, thank you," Harry took his cup. He carefully held it awkwardly high to avoid hitting his elbow into the cat that had fallen asleep on his legs. Charlotte craned her neck to view the photograph in his other hand.

"Wasn't she lovely? They were together for only a year when Ethan was born. She left soon after that."

"Why?"

"They were both very young. She couldn't cope with it for too long. Moved to Toronto or somewhere. I felt a great deal of pity for her, wrong as her actions were. And poor Roland was left to raise Ethan on his own. But he adored him so I suppose that helped a great deal. I never had children myself."

"Did she ever come back?" asked Harry. He took a sip of the tea and found it hard not to down the entire thing in one swallow it was so good.

"Oh, yes." Charlotte took an elegant sip of her own. "When Ethan was six she came back and tried to gain joint custody. Roland wouldn't even let her see him. I never did approve of that. But Ethan was his son so it was his decision I suppose. Natalie was putting up quite a fight about it before it happened."

Harry had an idea of where the story was going, but felt a sense of foreboding nonetheless. "What happened?"

"Traffic accident," said Charlotte, sadly. "Just outside the shop. Roland was closing up and had only left Ethan on the curb for a moment to go back inside when an intoxicated driver accidentally veered onto the sidewalk."

Harry recalled the first time he'd seen Roland. The man had been smoking a cigarette with a grim bitterness on the sidewalk just outside the store. "That's terrible," he said at the lack of better words.

Charlotte nodded in agreement. "Poor boy was only seven."

"How long ago was this?" Harry inquired.

"Almost two years now," Charlotte calculated.

"And I take it Ethan's mother went back to Toronto?"

"Grief took her in the end, I'm afraid," said Charlotte. "She did go back to Toronto as far as I knew after Ethan's funeral. But she died a year ago. Pills." Charlotte took a long drink of her tea as Harry silently digested the information. "Roland has never been very sociable, Mr. Dresden, but you must excuse his rude behavior. He's been very out of sorts since Ethan's death. It's really a miracle at all that the shop still runs. And he's taken up that dreadful smoking habit. I do worry what will happen to him when I go, but reasoning with him is terribly ineffective. You simply cannot penetrate grief so strong. One almost believes you can bring a person back to life if you mourn them enough."

At Charlotte's last words, the nagging feeling Harry had earlier pushed aside suddenly came back full force. Only this time, it clicked for the wizard when he'd last seen Bob look so troubled. It had been during that case with Kelton Franks. It had been shortly after the ghost realized Kelton had been resurrected. Setting the tea cup down, Harry picked up the heavy cat from his lap and placed her on the floor, much to her hissing dismay.

"Ms. Barquentine, thank you for everything. The tea was great, but I actually need to go," he explained.

"So soon?" inquired Charlotte with a disappointed frown. But it soon dissipated as she rose to her own feet to walk Harry to the door. "Well, I suppose you police officers are always on the move. But please to consider what I've said about Roland. I'm sure whatever has been going on, he's completely innocent."

Harry wasn't so sure, but he said reassuringly, "I'll tell the police you said so. I'm actually not a cop," he continued at her curious expression. "I consult for them."

"Consult? What do you do?"

"Well, it's actually kind of complicated. I sort of…help them look into things sort of…at a different angle," hedged the wizard.

"Oh, are you a psychic?" asked Charlotte.

"Well…no, not exactly," Harry answered, taking a mental stock of all the things he did that psychics couldn't.

"My second husband was a psychic," Charlotte mentioned. "I've often thought I should have stayed with him," she added, wistfully.

Backing out the door, Harry gave her a charming grin. "That wouldn't have been fair to the rest of us."

Charlotte smiled brilliantly in return. "Oh, Mr. Dresden. The person who ends up with you is so very lucky."


	5. Chapter 5

This is the 5th chapter of what I now know is an 11 chapter story. Whew!

Many thanks to **chianna**for pointing out a rather large spelling error on my part in the last bit! Despite the fact that I should use a beta, I just stubbornly refuse to. My own fault, really.

* * *

"Jason Simms is dead."

"I know," she replied. There was an annoyed expression on her face, but she quickly shook it off as her fingers dipped into the glowing bowl once more. "It was earlier than anticipated. But don't worry," she added, seeing the concerned expression on her client's face. "It was enough. Now I only need to get take a little bit more from the rest and then the last one. Soon, your son will be back."

"You promise me?'

"Absolutely." She grinned, slyly. "My word is as good as your payment to me."

"Which is here."

Taking the large envelope, she didn't bother to count the bills, knowing full well she wouldn't be cheated. "Very soon," she assured.

* * *

The candles Harry had lit before exiting earlier in the day flickered dramatically as the wizard slammed his door open. The storefront was deserted of any potential clients or the spirit of a formally evil wizard. Neither event was unusual, though Harry scowled regardless as he recalled where he'd left the skull. But as he thundered toward his lab, his eyes fell on the frantically blinking red light of his answering machine.

Harry paused, debating on which to tackle first, but guessing the message was most likely from Murphy, whom he hadn't checked in with all day, he changed his direction and gingerly pressed the button.

_"Harry, it's Murphy. Call me. Jason Simms committed suicide and I've got another suicide on my hands that might be related. I also have some information on Roland Bennett we need to talk about."_

Harry froze as his machine beeped feebly again to indicate the message was over. Simms was dead. Which might mean they were already too late to stop what Bennett might be trying. Slapping off the answering machine, the wizard moved quickly toward his lab.

"Bob!" he shouted as he unlocked his door. "Bob, outside now."

Shutting the door, Harry stopped short when he realized the ghost was already out of his skull and waiting for him on the other side of the room. There was trepidation on his former teacher's face, though he remained silent.

"Simms killed himself," Harry stated, flatly. He might have imagined it, but it seemed the room got a little colder. The wizard silently walked to where the ghost stood, his face hard. "You knew something like this was going to happen."

"I didn't know he was going-"

"But you had an idea what was wrong with him," Harry interrupted.

"I had…a suspicion. Based on the conversation you'd related to me," Bob admitted. The ghost kept his gaze firmly locked on Harry's as he spoke. And in the pale eyes, the wizard could see the contrition that was clearly indicated in his voice. And while that was something, Harry's anger had only begun to simmer.

"You had a suspicion," Harry repeated, haltingly. "And you didn't tell me."

"I wasn't certain. I thought perhaps I was mistaken."

"Bob, we're never sure in line of work!" the wizard suddenly exploded. "You had an idea of what was wrong with Simms, you didn't say anything and now the guy's dead!"

"Harry, if Simms was afflicted with what I suspected then he was already lost," the ghost explained, though he knew the words would mean little to Harry at the moment. The wizard let out a frustrated growl and raked his fingers through his scalp as he paced the lab.

"Fine, maybe he was already gone, but Murphy's got another body now. And who knows what else?"

"Someone else has died?" Bob asked.

Seeing the wide eyed expression on his former teacher's face, Harry stopped in his walking. "I talked to someone about Roland Bennett today," said the wizard, his glare drilling holes into the ghost. "His son was killed two years ago." Harry studied Bob's face and judged the spirit knew where he was going with this. "Whatever happened to Simms….is it part of a spell to bring someone back to life?"

"It's…it's not as simple as that," Bob stated, weakly.

"Then explain it to me," Harry ordered.

After a moment's hesitation, the ghost grimaced painfully as he attempted to clarify. "What I recognized about Simms was the after effect of a resurrection spell."

"Like Kelton Franks?"

"No, Mr. Franks suffered from memories of his deaths that he misinterpreted as dreams. What Simms felt was the torment of a half life."

"Half life?"

"Resurrection is unnatural, Harry," said Bob, quietly. "The souls who return feel an inordinate amount of pain. Not physical, but mental…spiritual. Even if the condition of their body is restored, their minds are not."

The wizard recalled Simms' words of how life was causing him pain and only in his ending could he be released from it. "But you were able to do with Uncle Justin. You brought him back and he was fine."

"He was only alive for a few moments," said the ghost, carefully. "The pain is not immediate. It seeps into you in degrees. Given a few hours, even one and he would have begun to feel the agony. It would have driven him insane."

"You never found a cure to that?"

There was a quick flash of emotion that rushed across the ghost's face. Seeing it, Harry was almost taken aback by the sheer intensity of it. But before he could focus in completely on what it had been, it was gone and for the first time since the start of the conversation, Bob's eyes hardened. "No," he answered, shortly. "I never found a cure for that."

"But…Simms wasn't resurrected," Harry thought aloud, moving his mind back to the case. Simms' wife had stated clearly that nothing seemed odd about her husband during the days leading up to his mental snap. And no matter how much Harry tried to think beyond it, his thoughts kept circling back to the bookstore itself. Checking his watch, Harry saw it was past business hours and most likely Fallen Books would be closed.

"Get in your skull," Harry commanded. "We're taking a drive."

* * *

The windows of Fallen Books were dark by the time Harry pulled up across the street. Remembering Charlotte saying Roland lived upstairs, he glanced up and saw that all the apartment windows were also darkened, indicating no one was home. Grabbing the battered hockey stick and a knapsack, the wizard made his way over to the store that clearly stated it was closed. The locked door quickly gave in after Harry grasped the doorknob.

"Mr. Bennett?" Harry called out to make sure. A few seconds passed in silence. Quickly shutting the door behind him, the wizard entered and pulled out the ancient skull from his knapsack. As the ghost materialized, Harry already began to feel uncomfortable as the oppressive air he'd felt before weighed down on him. "Do you feel that?" Harry asked when Bob was standing next to him.

"It's like the receipt you first showed to me," Bob nodded. "Only it's stronger here." He raised a hand and made a sweeping gesture, as if presenting something to an unseen party.

"What? What is it?" Harry asked, seeing the troubled look on Bob's face.

Instead of replying, the ghost clenched his hand into a fist and stared at nothing for a moment before turning his attention back to the wizard.

"Harry, you'll need to test to see if this spell is still actually running," he stated. "All of this could still be a residue leftover, but you'll need to be sure."

"What is it?" Harry demanded.

"A kind of tagging system," Bob explained, hurriedly. "Just test the area to see if the spell is still running."

"Can I run a check on this place? I don't own it."

"It'll be a strain, but it's not protected," the ghost reasoned. He glanced around the area. "If you purchase something you may have an easier time."

Without looking, Harry grabbed the first paperback his hand fell on and eyed the price penciled at the top. Pulling a five dollar bill from his pocket, he slapped it down on the vacated desk and shoved the small book into his jacket. Having completed the transaction, the wizard placed one end of the hockey stick on the wooden floor and concentrated.

He could feel some resistance as he pushed outward, strong arming the spell to show itself if it was still active. After a few moments, there was a flash of orange light that soon melted into a glow. For a minute, Harry wondered if he'd transported himself somewhere before realizing he was still inside the store. Only now it was filled with clouds of orange dust, swirling lazily in the air, obscuring his vision.

"It's there," he heard Bob saying. Waving a hand in the air to try and clear his vision a little, Harry saw the familiar figure pointing to a glowing sigil etched at the top of the entrance way to the bookstore. "The spell is still active."

Looking around, Harry saw the dust was covering everything, including the books and furniture. But when he raised his own hand, he saw that the clouds swirl around it, but not quite touch him. "It's not covering me," he realized.

Bob looked over at that and saw it was true. His eyes fell on the leather and metal strip that was still snugly wrapped around Harry's wrist. "Your mother's bracelet is protecting you," he assessed. "It's holding off the dust and shielding you from being tracked."

"But I can still feel it," Harry said, seeing now why it was he felt like he could hardly breathe when he'd last been in the store. "This is supposed to tag people?" asked Harry. "It's been tagging every person that's come into the store."

"To track and treat them, yes," Bob answered. He turned away to stare back up at the brightly lit symbol. There was a tone of resignation in his voice. "It covers a person and tracks their essence so that whoever has cast this spell can sort through and collect the people they wish."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's a very effective way of choosing the kind of people you want and then selectively preparing them. The spell also allows you to have them at your disposal all at once without actually having them congregated together."

"For what reason?" asked Harry.

"Any number of things. But a mass sacrifice is always the popular option," answered the ghost. He kept his back to Harry, leaving the wizard unable to read his expression. His words had a morbid humor to it, but the voice was strained, unhappy. A question sat at the tip of Harry's tongue.

_Is that how you did it? Is that how you did the resurrection spell?_

Instead, the wizard lifted the end of the hockey stick off the floor, breaking the energy flow. Abruptly, the orange dust and glowing sigil disappeared. Walking toward the back of the store, he found a set of stairs leading no doubt up to Bennett's apartment.

"I'm checking upstairs." Making his way up, he felt Bob silently following behind him.

The door leading to Bennett's apartment gave way as easily as the front door at Harry's touch. Whatever mess Fallen Books was in, the rest of Bennett's apartment mirrored it doubly. Even by Harry's loose standards of housekeeping, the place was an utter war zone. Stepping around waylaid books, shoes and dishware, the wizard saw there was nothing noteworthy about Bennett's residence, other than that it was chaotic. The unpleasant air he'd felt downstairs was not present.

"If he's doing spells, he's got to have a lab or something set up," the wizard murmured, checking one door to find it led to what looked like the bedroom. Not surprisingly, the bed was unmade and most likely hadn't been made in two years. Pressing his hockey stick down, Harry tested the bedroom without finding any traces of a spell.

"It might not necessarily be here," Bob pointed out.

While it was possible, Harry ignored the comment and moved onto the next door. Unlike the bedroom door, this one was locked. A small sense of hope flickered in the wizard as he unlocked and pushed the door open. Instead of candles, potions and sigils, Harry saw stuffed animals, books, and a child's bed. As he stepped in, Bob followed closely behind, observing the area. Unlike the rest of the apartment, this particular room looked set apart. The bed was also unmade and a few books littered the floor. But it was the normal amount of mess one might find in a child's room.

Picking up a book off the floor, Harry flipped it open and saw large, childish writing scrawl across the inside page, "Property of Ethan Bennett." A layer of dust rubbed off on the wizard's fingers as he held the book and it was then he realized that the space had probably remained untouched since Ethan's death to the moment he'd walked in. Despite his suspicions of the black magic Roland was attempting, Harry suddenly felt guilty at the lack of respect he was paying. Hastily, he put the book back down where he'd found it.

"This isn't it," he said, quietly. "It's his son's room."

Moving past where Bob stood, Harry walked back out into the hall, toward the main living area. He pressed the hockey stick back down and tested the room. While the energy flickered and expanded outward, not a trace of any sort of magic or spell could be found. The wizard was about to release his hold when he looked up and froze.

From the entrance was Roland Bennett, his keys hanging uselessly in his hand. A murderous glare was stamped on his face as he looked at Harry. "How the hell did you get in here?" he demanded.

While Harry's mind ordered him to give up some sort of explanation, he only gaped as he realized what his test was now revealing. Standing at the door, Roland was covered in a layer of orange dust. It glittered brightly and all the more brilliantly, but it was identical to the dust Harry had seen downstairs. Roland was tagged. And apparently chosen.


	6. Chapter 6

As Harry stared at the glowing figure of Roland Bennett, he also realized by the way the man was glaring at him and only him that he wasn't seeing the orange light he was broadcasting. Slowly, the wizard lifted his hockey stick off the ground a bare half inch, breaking his own energy and the light surrounding Roland winked out.

"Answer the fucking question," Roland ordered, not seeing what had just transpired.

"You're not doing it," Harry softly blurted out.

"What? The hell are you talking about?" demanded Roland.

While Harry's most popular and only theory of Roland being the culprit died a quiet death in the wizard's mind, from behind him back in Ethan's room, Bob moved enough to be able to catch a glimpse of Roland Bennett through the slightly ajar door. The man's thin, overly haggard face looked contradictory to the ghost. It was well possible that Roland was even a year or two younger than Harry, but the man looked old. Grief had aged him. And more to the point, grief had all but obliterated what had been left of Roland. Even from his distance, Bob could see the misery that twisted and buried Roland in a suffocating hug, smothering out any desires or ambitions. The man moved and breathed, but he barely lived.

As if sensing someone else looking at him, Roland looked over Harry's shoulder toward his son's room and saw the door was slightly open. Immediately, Bob moved away from sight, but not before a flash of white was spotted. Following Roland's gaze, Harry moved a little in front of the doorway.

"Listen, Mr. Bennett, I'm sorry about the intruding," Harry began.

Not bothering to reply, Roland stalked over to where Harry stood and shoved him back with surprising force to push the door to Ethan's room fully open. Contrary to what he'd believed, the room was empty.

Stumbling further into the living area from Roland's push, Harry caught Bob racing out of the wall next to him. As the spirit moved, he dissolved into smoke, slipping back into the knapsack. After making sure the skull and ghost were well out of sight, Harry quietly followed Roland into the room. The man was staring around the room, looking a little bewildered. But sensing the wizard behind him, he turned and scowled over his shoulder.

"You were in here," he accused.

"I'm sorry about that," Harry apologized, sincerely. He also silently apologized for suspecting him of doing black magic. The fact that Roland was tagged himself made him a potential victim, rather than the instigator. But for what reason? Why had someone picked this particular store to act as the hotspot for soul grazing? From what Bob had told him, the signs were pointing toward a resurrection, but who else by Roland would want Ethan resurrected? It was too much of a coincidence to suppose the store that just happened to be picked for a resurrection spell just happened to be owned by a man who just happened to have lost a child.

"I only wanted to talk to you."

"Is that why you wandered up here and broke into my apartment instead of coming by the store during work hours?" Roland demanded. "Just get the hell out of my place." Despite being a few inches shorter, the store owner had anger on his side to physically push Harry toward the door.

"Mr. Bennett, please, it'll only take a second," Harry insisted, keeping a grip on his knapsack as he was manhandled toward the front door. "I need to talk to you about your son."

The shoving abruptly stopped, though Roland's face twisted into a disgusted grimace. "Why? Are you going to offer me your services?" he asked, sarcastically. Seeing the confusion on Harry's face, the grimace only increased. "Charlotte told me about your visit to her, Mr. Dresden. Thanks, but no thanks. I don't need your psychic skills. I don't believe in some mystical afterlife so just peddle your crap to the cops."

"I'm not a psychic," Harry said with a bit of rancor. "Look," he tried, switching tactics. "Your life could be in danger. One of your customer's is dead, maybe even more. I just need a moment of your time. Please?" The shop owner remained silent. "Please?" Harry repeated.

* * *

"Forensics finished the sweep of Eileen Frost's apartment," Kirmani announced, interrupting Murphy's third read through of Roland Bennett's entire life. The detective looked mildly smug, an expression he usually wore when a piece of the puzzle in the case fell into place.

"And?" asked Murphy.

"They found a receipt from Bennett's store in her trash."

"So both suicides shopped at that store," Murphy thought aloud.

"Recently," Kirmani added, holding up the evidence bag containing the receipt. "She was there a few days ago. Butters pegs she died about two days ago, meaning she most likely killed herself a day after being there."

"Something made her lose it. Like Jason Simms," mused the lieutenant.

"Yeah, funny coincidence," Kirmani said.

Looking back down at Bennett's file, Murphy's eyes strayed on notes submitted in by the various police officers who last year, had all had the pleasure of arresting Roland Bennett. After a few moments, Murphy closed the file with a slap and got up to grab her jacket. "Let's bring in Bennett for questioning."

* * *

The crystal by her side flashed its warning. The spell had been detected. But in consulting her warning system, she saw it had only been a casual, near gentle probe. Not at all the Council's style. If they knew about this, the network she'd set up to alert her should the spell be unveiled would have been obliterated first. This magic was more impulsive, careless.

"Harry Dresden," she guessed.

Looking behind her, she saw her client continue to sleep, the last of the potion having been swallowed. Beside her, the small, covered figure remained still. It was time for the last phase. And while the possible involvement of Dresden was irritating, it should have been expected. He had an annoying habit of getting in her way. Still, there was nothing to be done, other than continue with her plan.

All that mattered was the spell. She'd spent a little over a year casting it, making it the longest spell she'd ever done in her short life. And its success was the utmost importance. Glancing inside the bowl, she eyed the soul that shined the brightest, tracking its movements. And waited.

* * *

Around the corner from Fallen Books, two men sat on the sidewalk. While having relented to Harry's pleas for a talk, Roland would only do so outside where he immediately lit up a cigarette and began the first one out of a long chain.

"Those things'll kill you," the wizard couldn't help pointing out as the smoke wafted toward him.

Roland snorted from behind his cloud. "Here's hoping," he toasted before taking a long pull that practically halved the cigarette. Imperceptibly, Harry twitched his fingers and kept the smoke flowing away from him. "Other than the free health advice, was there anything else?" asked Roland.

"There might be someone targeting you, Mr. Bennett. I need to know if you can think of anyone who'd have some sort of grudge against you."

"I don't know anyone, Mr. Dresden," stated Roland, humorlessly, lighting up a fresh cigarette with his dying one. "Apart from Charlotte, whom you've already met, everyone I know is dead."

"What about Natalie Harper's family?" asked the wizard, thinking of Ethan's mother. "Could they possibly blame you for what happened to her?"

"What happened to her," Roland bit out, angrily. "Was a very fitting conclusion to her very consistent life." He blew out a thick cloud of smoke. "Natalie couldn't handle anything and couldn't think about anyone other than herself. She couldn't handle being a parent and took off, only to come back six years later to try and be a parent because she suddenly felt like it. Never mind how anyone else felt."

"Maybe she came back because she missed her son," Harry suggested as mildly as possible.

"Natalie didn't know Ethan. She left when he was still an infant. She only came back because she began to like the idea of being a mother. She never did anything that wasn't motivated by how she felt in the moment. Given a month, she'd have taken off again. I wasn't about to put him through that." Roland furiously stubbed out his half finished cigarette. "She couldn't handle what happened to Ethan and so she swallowed pills and ran away for good."

The venom with which Roland spoke about Natalie made Harry wonder if it was possible that he'd ever loved her or even remotely cared about her. Maybe a little too much to inspire such hatred later on by what the man clearly viewed as a betrayal. "How did you find out what happened to her?" he asked.

"Authorities called me. My number was still in her phone."

"And her family never tried to contact you?"

Roland lit another cigarette. "Natalie didn't have any family. She only had her mom and she'd died two years before I even met her."

And with that, Harry was out of ideas. No one was left alive who would have a reason to try and bring back Ethan. And no one was left who would want to cause Roland any harm. Other than possibly Roland himself, judging by the way he lived his life. The wizard flirted with the idea that perhaps Roland was orchestrating all of this and intended to sacrifice himself to bring back his son. But somehow, the idea that the man would abandon his son, alive perhaps, but orphaned, didn't seem to fit. Nothing about the case fit.

"You look down," Roland commented, ignoring the irony of him making such an observation. "Not find what you were hoping?"

"Not exactly," Harry admitted. "I'm a little stuck."

"Get in line," Roland replied.

The wizard glanced over at the comment and watched him continue to smoke, staring off at nothing. "I'm sorry about what happened to your son. No parent should have to experience that," he offered.

Still staring off, Roland let his cigarette dangle on his fingertips, the blue-grey smoke, curling up into the night air. "Natalie was a lousy parent. But I wasn't much better," he said, quietly.

"I'm sure that isn't true," Harry assured, thinking about what Charlotte had told him.

"What father leaves their kid outside? I was supposed to look out for him. I was only gone for a second when-" Roland abruptly cut himself off and put the cigarette to his lips again. "I wasn't there," he concluded, softly.

"It was an accident."

Roland gave a morbid chuckle that sounded like a cough as he sucked down another lungful. "I know. Doesn't really help though, does it?"

Harry was reminded of the last time he'd had a conversation with his uncle. And of the voodoo doll he had impulsively used and unwittingly crushed. "No," he agreed. "It doesn't."

Suddenly, there was the sound of a blast that sounded muffled, as if dampened somehow. Both the wizard and Roland looked over to where they'd heard the sound that was now being replaced by the sound of crackling wood and people shouting. Getting to his feet, Harry grabbed his knapsack and hockey stick and ran back where they'd come from to the source of the noise with Roland behind him. Rounding the corner, both men stopped as they took in what was happening.

People were running away, simultaneously making emergency calls on their cell phones. Customers of the deli next door to Fallen Books were pouring out of the store, along with the deli's workers as they ran to the other side of the street to get away from the heat. Fallen Books and the apartment on top of it was in flames.


	7. Chapter 7

It took Harry a few seconds to register that while groups of people were fleeing from the rapidly diminishing building, there was one person running toward it. Rushing after him, the wizard managed to reach Roland. Harry could feel the heat from the fire fanning his face as he grappled to hold onto the struggling man.

"Are you nuts?!" exclaimed the wizard, above the roaring crackles of the inferno.

"Let go!" Roland shouted, trying to twist out of Harry's hold. "I need to get Ethan's things! It's all in there!"

"Roland, it's too late."

"Get off me!" Despite the near insane strength he'd acquired by sheer panic, a bystander had come to help Harry in restraining Roland. Between the two of them, they managed to drag the struggling shop owner back on the other side of the street. As they did so, the windows of Fallen Books cracked against the heat and shattered as the fire continued to eat away at the books. Upstairs, the windows of the apartment were lit up by the raging flames, followed by a large crash as the ceiling of bookshop caved in, bring half the apartment down into the storefront.

"I called the fire department," said the man who continued to help Harry hold onto Roland, though he'd finally stopped fighting. The wizard nodded his thanks, casting a worried eye at the destroyed area. The destruction of the store meant the tagging spell was now obsolete. Maybe that meant who'd ever cast it had completed their intended goal of resurrection. Or the wizard now knew that another had found them out.

_Or maybe_, thought Harry. _The wizard is ready for the last victim. _

He glanced over at Roland, who was now nearly deathly still, staring at the fire that obliterated the last ten years of his life, including all physical evidence that his son had ever existed. Sensing it was going to happen anyway, the wizard gently guided the shell-shocked man to sit down on the sidewalk. Gawkers of the disaster gave them a wide berth of space, having witnessed Roland's earlier meltdown.

Sirens wailed as fire engines, squad cars and a familiar looking SUV pulled up. Murphy leapt out of the car before Kirmani even properly braked. Her eyes immediately fell on the tall wizard who, seeing the look on her face, inwardly winced.

"Watch him," he asked requested to the earlier bystander before walking up to meet Murphy halfway. "I don't know what happened," he stated, beating her to the punch.

"Where have you been?" she demanded instead. "I've been trying to reach you all day."

"I know, I'm sorry. I've been busy with your case, though. I swear."

"So what've you got for me? A potential crime site in flames?" she asked.

"Crime site?"

"We came to get Bennett in for questioning," said Murphy as the fire fighters began to make efforts to control the disaster. "The second suicide also shopped at his store. Two days before she killed herself." The lieutenant narrowed her eyes. "You don't look very surprised," she accused.

"Listen, Murphy, I know what you're thinking about Roland, but I don't think-"

"Jesus!" came a shout, cutting Harry off.

The wizard turned to see the bystander from earlier, holding his face, bent over. A second after registering that, Harry found himself staggering backwards, his head ringing from the punch Roland delivered to him.

"What did you DO?" bellowed Roland.

Another fist glanced off Harry's face as he lost his balance and fell on the pavement. The knapsack fell from his shoulder, opening up and allowing the skull inside to come rolling out. The ring of people watching the spectacle backed up a subtle distance as the engraved bones bounced onto the sidewalk with a soft clatter.

"You did something!" Roland accused to the fallen wizard. "Everything was normal until you showed up!" Before he had a chance to try and strangle Harry, Murphy was there. Despite her smaller stature, she impressively grabbed hold of the taller man's arms and wrestled him face down onto the ground.

"Hey! Calm down," she ordered, giving Harry a chance to stagger back to his feet.

"He fucking did something!" Roland yelled, giving the wizard a murderous look. Murphy continued to hold onto the enraged shop owner as she hauled him to his feet. A uniformed officer who knew of the deceptively thin woman's strength had been hovering near her and now took Roland off her hands.

"Take him down to the station. We'll follow you," she instructed.

"It's all your fault!" Roland continued to shout as he was dragged toward a car. "Everything I had left of Ethan's is gone! It's your fault!"

Harry mutely stared back as Roland was taken away, breaking out of it when Murphy touched his arm. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, fine," the wizard nodded, not quite feeling the pain from the blows just yet.

Murphy stared at him, searchingly, before asking, "Did you do something?"

Harry thought on how it was now too late to consider if the tagging spell had been rigged with some sort of alarm, should anyone detect it. The fire was now down to a controllable level as the firemen kept up their work. But it was obvious nothing would be salvaged from the wreckage. The wizard swallowed, thinking about Roland's accusation and gave Murphy a regretful look.

"I think I might have."

The lieutenant's lips settled into a familiar grim line. "Get in the car. We're going back to the station."

The wizard silently agreed and turned to pick up his lost items to find Kirmani holding the liberated skull.

"Yours, I believe?" he asked, holding out the artifact toward Harry with a half amused, half disgusted look on his face.

"Yeah, thanks," the wizard responded, gruffly taking the skull back and re-stuffing it into his knapsack.

Behind him, the last of the fire was settling down. In its wake, Fallen Books was gone.

* * *

"He's not talking," Kirmani stated.

After initial difficulties in calming Roland Bennett down, the man now seemed to be in a silent, nearly lethargic state as he sat in the station's interview room. From the footage the camera had filmed of him, he hadn't moved nor spoken since being escorted in. He'd remained unresponsive to any of Kirmani and Murphy's questions regarding Eileen Frost.

"We don't have anything to hold him here," Murphy said, though she considered that there might be enough time to bring a shrink to do an evaluation. "Unless you've got something," she asked Harry.

The wizard held in his hands the large file on Roland Bennett that Chicago's finest had pulled together. It comprehensibly tracked Bennett's life starting from the death of his son, an event that had nearly ended up with Bennett almost killing the driver who'd accidentally hit Ethan. There had been incidents in the following months where Bennett had been arrested multiple times for brawls he'd often started in various bars.

"I don't think he's your guy, Murphy."

"He's the only connection between the two victims," Kirmani interjected.

"But they did commit suicide, right? All sorts of people go into a bookstore. Why would he want two strangers dead?" Harry reasoned.

"The guy's a mess. Maybe he just snapped."

"And what? Somehow got two people to kill themselves?"

"I don't know, David Blaine You tell me," retorted Kirmani. "Aren't you the expert in these things?"

"Okay, enough," Murphy finally interjected. "If it's not Bennett then what are we looking at? Someone else? Just a coincidental suicide?" she asked Harry.

"I'm not sure," the wizard admitted, earning a snort from Kirmani and a barely repressed sigh of frustration from Murphy. He looked back down at the report in his hands as the two detectives began discussing the possibility of having to release their only suspect. He followed Bennett's life up until the notes made about the death of Natalie Harper, the mother. A faxed copy of the coroner's report from Toronto was attached, stating in very short, simple terms that Natalie Harper had died due to an overdose of sedatives. The ruling was a suicide. It matched everything Harry already knew, except a small, concluding statement by the doctor that Natalie's body had in the end been released to one Roland Bennett.

"Hang on," Harry said, interrupting the detectives' conversation. "Did you read this? It says Natalie Harper's body was released to Bennett after the autopsy."

"And?" asked Murphy.

"It's just…he never mentioned that," said the wizard. "He said the authorities called him, but he never mentioned having to go to Toronto to get her."

"What's your point?" Kirmani asked, scowling.

Harry looked at the contact information for the coroner. "Can I use your phone?"

* * *

"The police have him," she stated.

"What? But we need him! How are we-"

"Don't worry about that," she assured, pocketing the prepared potion. "Getting him out won't be a problem."

"Ethan wasn't…he seemed upset tonight."

"The spell isn't complete yet. He still senses the darkness waiting for him. When I'm done, everything will be fine."

"Do you have anymore of the potion? I want to keep him company while we wait."

"No, but it's not necessary." Shrugging on her coat, she gave her client a stern look. "It's absolutely vital that you follow my instruction. You wait here for me to come back with him. Timing is key and it's been planned down to the last detail. And after tonight, everything will be fine."

* * *

"Can I speak with Dr. Meredith Izanami, please?" Harry requested into the mouthpiece.

"I'm afraid she no longer works here," apologized the woman who had answered the contact number. "Is there anything I can help you with? I've taken over all her old files."

"Is there a forwarding number? Where did she go?"

"She didn't leave us any follow up number," the woman replied. "She left a little over a year ago. Was it in regards to anything particular?"

"Yeah, she-" the wizard fumbled with the file in his hands, extracting out the appropriate pages. "She did an autopsy on a woman named Natalie Harper about a year ago."

"Yes, that was her last case," she remembered. "A suicide. We faxed that report over to you already. Is there a problem?"

"Just curious, but d' you have any other record of Miss Harper's body being released to Roland Bennett."

There was a pause over the phone and Harry could practically see the woman's confusion. "Well…the record is right there, Mr. Dresden. Dr. Izanami handled everything and she released the body to Mr. Bennett herself."

"But no one else saw her? I mean, did you actually see her do it?"

"Well…no, Mr. Dresden," she replied. "But Dr. Izanami is a very competent, hardworking professional," she continued, sounding a little defensive. " We were sorry to lose her and I can assure you that Miss Harper's body was released to the proper contact."

"Do you have a photo of Dr. Izanami?" Harry asked.

"Excuse me?"

"A photo of her? One you could fax over?"

"Well, we have a copy of her ID badge, but I don't understand why-"

"If you could just fax it over to the department," Harry cut in. "That'd be great. Right away, please?"

"What are you doing?" Murphy asked, watching Harry hang up the phone. The wizard looked at the lieutenant's computer monitor that continued to feed through footage of Roland Bennett sitting in the interview room.

"I don't think Natalie Harper is dead," the wizard explained, keeping his eye on the still figure. "And I think whatever's going on, she's doing it all to get back at him."

"She faked her own death? A death that fooled the cops in Toronto and the coroner who performed an autopsy on her?"

"Remember Kelton Franks and his wife?" Harry reminded.

"They had help."

The wizard nodded, grimly. "I know."

The fax machine by Murphy's desk rang and picked up as a page began to transmit. As it did so, the image on the lieutenant's screen distorted and went to static.

* * *

Roland Bennett remained silent as the door to the interview room opened again. He'd expected the return of the detectives who'd tried to question him earlier, but saw someone completely new casually walk in.

"Roland Bennett?" inquired the slim woman.

"Who're you?" he asked.

From her pocket, she took out a small bottle and slid it over to him. "Drink this for me, if you will."

Roland stared at the blue container that held some sort of liquid inside. "I'm not going to drink-" At the sound of a click, he looked up to see the new arrival pointing a cocked gun at him.

"I'd drink it if I were you," she advised with a smile.

* * *

"Dammit," Murphy muttered, slapping her monitor that persisted in only showing static. "Is this you?" she demanded.

"No, your computer's still working," Harry protested, pointing to the rest of her desktop icons. And then the wizard paled. "It's the interview room camera," he realized.

The wheezing fax machine spat out a single sheet of paper into the wizard's hand. While the image was dark and not of the best quality, it told Harry all that he had to know. Grabbing his staff, he raced out of Murphy's cubicle as the lieutenant shouted after him. Within seconds he burst into the interview room, but the teleportation potion had already worked. The room was empty.

"Oh, no," breathed Harry.

Catching up to him, Murphy looked inside. "How in the hell…"

Harry lifted up the faxed photo he still clutched in his hands. Murphy's eyes widened fractionally as she recognized the solemn face of Dr. Izanami.

"Sharon."


	8. Chapter 8

When Roland woke up, he realized he was standing. Only, he wasn't propped up against anything and he couldn't feel anyone holding him up or hanging him up. He had somehow managed to stand on his feet, straight up with his arms at his sides while being unconscious. Groggily, he attempted to rub at his eyes and found he couldn't move his arm. Nor could he move his legs. Or any other part of his body, other than his neck.

Utilizing what he had, Roland looked at his surroundings. He seemed to be in some sort of open room in a warehouse, standing inside a strange, small circle someone had squiggled on the floor. He attempted to lift his foot again with the same result. To his left, he spotted another squiggled circle, slightly larger. Inside of that was what looked disturbingly like a small body covered with a blanket.

"Awake, I see."

Roland craned his neck to look over his shoulder in disbelief. It couldn't be. He refused to believe it, despite what his ears and now his eyes told him. She moved in through the doorless entrance from the adjacent room to stand in front of him, grabbing a wayward lock of her hair between her two fingers to pull it back the way she always did all those years ago. "Hi, Roland," she greeted with mocking pleasantry. "Long time no see."

"Natalie? What…am I…"

"No, you're not dead," she answered, guessing where his mind was going. "Yet."

"How are you alive?" Roland demanded. "They told me you killed yourself."

"You sound disappointed, Rollo," Natalie replied with a bitter smile. "You were always really good at hurting people's feelings. It made you a pain to take around to friends."

"What the hell is going on?" He attempted to step forward and found himself as still as before. "I can't move."

"I know," Natalie nodded. "She told me you wouldn't be able to."

"That Asian woman from the police station?" Roland put all his energy into throwing his body forward and couldn't even will his finger to twitch. After watching Roland struggle for a moment, a small smile graced Natalie's lips as she turned to wander toward the figure inside the other circle. "How is she doing this?" Roland demanded, letting himself stand for the moment. "Am I drugged?"

Natalie laughed. It was all together so recognizable to Roland and yet a twisted version of itself. "She's doing it by magic, Rollo."

"Stop fooling around! Help me out of here."

"Help YOU out?" In a burst of rage, the woman rounded up to Roland so sharply he thought she was going to punch him. But at the last second, she stopped approaching just short of stepping on the drawn circle. "Why would I help you? I can't fucking STAND you."

Her face was now only a few inches away from him and at that distance, Roland could see anger mix with grief in Natalie's green eyes. It was disturbingly familiar to him, not because he'd seen something like that in her before, but because he'd been seeing the same look in the mirror for the past two years.

Abruptly she took a step back, as if not trusting herself at that short a distance to not kill him with her own hands. "No one is going to help you. So just get used the idea."

"Natalie, what are you doing?" asked Roland, feeling a new kind of fear settling into his stomach.

"Fixing your mistake," Natalie answered, coldly. "With Sharon's help, I can fix your goddamn mistake."

Before she could elaborate, footsteps came from somewhere behind where Roland stood. Twisting his head, he saw it was the woman Sharon who'd come for him at the police station.

"Happy reunion?" she inquired with a smirk. Her eyes fell to the scuff marks left behind by Natalie's shoes near the edges of the ring that circled Roland. Her smile dropped. "What did I say about getting too close?"

"I didn't break the circle," Natalie insisted.

"If I can't leave you alone with him-"

"You can," Natalie replied, steely. "You think I'd jeopardize anything now? How much longer?"

"Be patient," Sharon warned. She glanced at her watch, consulting the calculations she'd done in her head. "We still have an hour yet. It gives me sometime to prepare a few things." She moved as if to go, but paused, turning to face Roland with a pitying expression on her face. "Don't be afraid," she assured. "From what Natalie tells me, you were barely living to begin with. And really, the sacrifice of your life is all for a very good cause." A wide smile broke her delicate features. "Even you'd agree."

"What is she talking about?" Roland demanded, watching Sharon's back disappear into the dark of the unlit adjoining room.

"She's helping me," Natalie answered. "She's going to give me back Ethan." Roland stared at her, uncomprehendingly. "Your life for his. Once you die, Ethan will be alive again. Just like it should be."

Silence ticked by as Roland took in what his former lover and the mother of his child was telling him. And in spite of realizing how much danger he was in, Roland found himself laughing. "Oh my god," he gasped through his chortling. "You've gone insane. You've actually lost your mind."

Natalie's features twisted into a furious scowl. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Natalie, the woman is conning you!" Roland shouted, his amusement having quickly fled. "Bringing people back to life? Listen to yourself!"

"I've seen her do magic! She can do it and bring back our son!"

"Jesus," Roland shook his head.

"How do you explain why you can't move?" asked Natalie, stubbornly. While he didn't reply, Roland continued to shake his head. "Fine, don't believe me. It won't matter. All that matters is Ethan."

Walking away from him, she moved to the other circle on the floor and sat down. Raising a hand, she lovingly stroked the blanket covered figure inside. "He told me about that sleepover you wouldn't let him go to because the house was too far away," she mentioned, keeping her eyes on the hidden shape. "And how you always insisted on holding his hand, even in elevators."

A chill ran down Roland's spine. "How…how can you know that?"

"Because Ethan told me," Natalie answered, raising her eyes. "It's part of Sharon's spell. I drank her potion and when I slept, I could talk to him. Comfort him."

"This is crazy," Roland strangled out. "You spied on us somehow," he tried to explain to himself.

"He asked where you were, you know," Natalie continued, relentlessly. "He asked if you were going to be coming back for him soon because you'd only just gone inside the store to grab a book you'd forgotten. 'The Book of Three', right? He told me you were reading that to him. He's still waiting for you to take him to Jackson Park and finish it up. Like you were supposed to the day it happened." A small, but triumphant grin appeared on Natalie's face as Roland paled. Glancing back down, she tenderly stroked the body again. "Guess it'll have to be me instead."

* * *

In a record amount of time, Murphy had managed to organize every available cop to start searching. Photos of Sharon were distributed, as well as photos of Natalie Harper. Orders were issued that they be in the second they were found. But despite the sheer determination of the lieutenant's actions, Harry knew it wasn't going to work. There were too many places in the city and not enough time. 

Thank god for small favors.

Harry knew Murphy's skills. But he also had a taste of Sharon's. And the last thing he wanted was for something to happen to his friend. It would be safer for Murphy if she never found Sharon. Or at least, not until Harry found her first.

"You're bullshitting me, Dresden," Murphy said, flatly when the wizard insisted he didn't have a clue how to start looking. The lieutenant had driven him back to where Fallen Books had once been and where Harry had left his Jeep. Only she was currently holding him hostage. "Finding people is your specialty. It's your goddamn bread and butter!"

"Murphy, finding Sharon is not as easy as finding a lost dog," Harry explained. "If she doesn't want to be found, she won't be."

"So are you saying we should just give up?" Murphy demanded, incredulously.

Harry gave her a weak smile. "You never give up, Murph," he said, affectionately. "It's what I like about you."

"Don't try and do what you think passes for charm to get out of this," she retorted. Nevertheless, she unlocked the doors of the SUV. "You call me if you have even a guess as to where they are." Harry mutely popped the door open to get out. "Hey." She detained him with a hard clamp of her hand. "Don't leave me hanging on this one, Harry."

"I won't."

"I mean it." And the wizard could see she did. In the past he'd artfully dodged or had usually awkwardly avoided letting Murphy get in too deep. Even with her unspoken acknowledgment that the world he operated in and one that she at times feared existed, Harry had tried to give her distance. But in seeing the look in her eyes now, he knew he wouldn't be able to sweep this one under the table.

"I won't leave you hanging, Murph," he answered. "I promise."

The lieutenant held onto his arm a little longer, trying to assess his sincerity on that promise. Finally, she seemed satisfied enough to let him go.

As the SUV sped off, Harry spotted his abandoned Jeep, waiting patiently for him. But before he walked to it, he pointedly made a short detour back toward the next block over where he'd sat with Roland earlier in the evening.

* * *

The stubbed out cigarette butts that Harry had rescued from the street sank slowly into the mixture the wizard continued to heat. Beside him, Bob only watched as the wizard began tying off a fresh crystal to use. 

"There's not much here, but it should be something," Harry muttered, dipping in the crystal.

"Harry, what are you going to do?" the ghost asked, quietly.

"What do you mean? I'm going to find Roland, rescue him, and stop Sharon from resurrecting some poor kid," Harry listed off.

"On your own?" The wizard only lifted the dripping shard out of the mixture and let the excess potion drip back into the bowl before setting it aside. "Harry, you must contact the Council," Bob insisted.

"I can't wait for them to answer my call, Bob. The last time I tried Morgan, I had to sit around for an hour."

"Going after Sharon by yourself would be foolish. Last time you faced off with her you nearly didn't make it out alive."

"But I did."

"By sheer luck," Bob snapped. "Listen to me, Sharon is not some mortal dabbling with a few spells and incantations. She's a practitioner of the Black and has no doubt already figured out that you will be coming after her."

Harry silently stared into the bowl, ignoring the warning for the moment. The mixture slowly went from its initial mud color to a lighter tan and slowly moved toward opaque. The cigarettes Roland had smoked weren't enough to give him clear images, but he could still make out his storefront and the diner just past his office as the potion gave him directions as to how to get to Roland from where he was. The images soon stopped shifting and Harry found himself staring at a watery image of a warehouse.

"Gotcha," Harry murmured with a victorious smirk.

Far from sharing in the wizard's small triumph, Bob only looked increasingly concerned as he stared at the bowl. "Harry, you can't just charge in. She will be able to predict your next move."

"Not if I don't have a plan, Bob," Harry pointed out. "See how that works?"

There was no usual rolling of eyes or exasperated sighs from the spirit. "Harry, please," Bob requested, plaintively. "Call the Council. You won't be able to defeat her on your own."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," remarked the wizard.

"Oh, you stupid boy!" The spirit suddenly shouted, having finally lost his temper. "This isn't some game to play. Two people are dead and the souls of two others are at stake! What sort of arrogance prevents you from taking this seriously?"

"I am taking this seriously," Harry defended, bristling at the short fuse. "I know what's on the line here."

"No, I don't believe you do," growled Bob. "You go in there alone and she will get the better of you as she did before. You will lose your life, as will Bennett. And a young boy will be subjected to the most unspeakable torture, only to die again in agony!"

"Speaking from experience?" asked Harry before thinking.

There was a sudden shift in the air around them and for the first time since meeting Bob, Harry could feel his curse. It poured out of the pale figure in a silent howl of misery like a tidal wave for a brief moment. And then it was gone. But in those few seconds, the wizard had felt a kind of despair and fear that had nearly made him stagger away from the spirit. When it was over, Bob was only staring at him, his expression tightly closed.

"Bob, I didn't mean to say that," Harry started.

"But you're correct," the ghost cut in, tonelessly. "I do speak from experience."

A silence stretched between them and it was only with the flash of the tracking potion, indicating it was now overcooked, that threw the wizard back to the task at hand. Snatching up his well used hockey stick, he turned to leave the lab.

"I can't sit and wait for the Council. There isn't enough time," he reasoned aloud. "But I'll call Morgan." Maybe the enforcer would actually be there this time, though Harry didn't see why his luck would suddenly pick now to start changing. He looked over at Bob who was silently taking in any instructions. "When he gets here, tell him where I went, okay?"

The spirit held his look for a few moments before giving a curt nod. "As you say."

Harry knew there was more to be said, but time continued to relentlessly move forward, eating away at his chances of getting to Roland before it was too late. So it was only with an awkward nod of his own and a murmured thanks that the wizard hurried out of his lab.


	9. Chapter 9

At some point, Roland had stopped struggling and took some strange relief in letting his body sag completely without having to worry about toppling over. Despite making his limbs boneless, he remained as rigid and still as a statue. Natalie had long fallen silent, stroking the covered figure in the other circle. Bile rose up in Roland's throat as he registered something for the first time.

"You dug up Ethan's body."

"Sharon got him for me," she answered, continuing her ministrations.

"You're sick," he spat. "This isn't going to work. All you've done is desecrate his grave."

"We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," Natalie replied with quiet accusation. "You kept him from me. You wouldn't let me see him. I'm his mother."

Roland snorted. "You left him before his first birthday, for Christ's sake."

"I came back."

"Yeah, you did. Because you suddenly felt like it-"

"I came back because I love him," Natalie cried over him.

"And when the time came," Roland spoke on. "You were going to leave again. You think I was going to put him through that?"

"So what did you put him through instead, Roland?" A bitter laugh sounded from Natalie. "Two years later and we're still having this same argument. Only difference is that I'm not the one who got Ethan killed." Slowly, she got to her feet. "I'm the one who found an answer."

"This isn't going to work," Roland repeated.

"You think you're the only one who loved Ethan?" Natalie pressed, ignoring his comment. "You think you're the only one who's been living in a nightmare since it happened?" she hissed. "All I wanted was to make it up to him for leaving. But you wouldn't even give me a chance. And every day after he died, I woke up and I felt like someone was slowly killing me without letting me die. What makes you think you're the only one in pain?"

Roland remained silent. And for the first time since he'd seen Natalie, the day she'd walked back into his and Ethan's life, he felt a guilt toward her. But before he could reply, footsteps sounded behind him.

"Is it time?" Natalie asked, over his shoulder.

"A few more minutes," Sharon replied. Kneeling down on the floor, she quickly drew another looping circle.

"What's that for?" asked Natalie.

Keeping her eyes on her work, the Asian woman lifted up a hand to show a pulsing red crystal. "We have a guest," she answered.

* * *

As Harry recalled, last time, Sharon had gotten the jump on him because he'd left his back open and vulnerable to her partner's attack. Keeping that tactical error of his in mind, the wizard slid his back along the walls as he entered the large warehouse. 

The inside was dark and comprised of several sectioned off areas, doorless rooms with only archways. But the areas were also empty, not leaving any objects a person could hide behind. Steadying his staff for a quick move if necessary, Harry slid into the next room. It was empty except for the lone figure who stood in the middle of the room, smiling.

"Harry Dresden," said Sharon, languidly. "Come to spoil my plans again? You haven't changed."

"Neither have you," Harry replied, keeping his eyes focused on her, while keeping his back to the wall. "You're up to your old tricks. Raising the dead, torturing lives."

Sharon shrugged, her arms at her sides. There was nothing in her hands, not even a wand. "Not exactly the same old. Last time the resurrection wasn't quite as seamless as I'd hoped. This time I'm hoping to be more streamlined."

"Don't you mean more vicious? I caught a bit of that tracking spell you did."

"More souls were required this time around. Taking a little from a large group was easier."

"Ever think about getting a regular job if you're so hard up for cash?" asked Harry.

The smile on Sharon's lips hardened by a shade. "Like I said to you before, it's not all about the money."

"Then what is it then?" the wizard demanded. "What's so important to you that you'd torture an innocent kid?"

"If I have it my way, the boy will be fine."

"I think you mean if I have it _my_ way," Harry corrected. Pressing his back to the wall, the wizard let out a sharp charge from the end of his staff. The blue light sailed across the air in a blink and slammed Sharon in the chest. The slim woman crumpled to the floor and stayed still. Cautiously, Harry moved forward, keeping his defensive stance. As he approached the body, it dissolved away into the air. A slip of paper fluttered up from the pile of dust. As it passed by the wizard's eye, he saw a line of symbols written down the middle.

"Dammit…" he muttered.

"I'd say so," said a voice from behind.

Harry managed to turn around just in time to see the real Sharon's face before a blast of red light caught him on the temple.

* * *

"Who is that?" demanded Natalie. 

Despite her thin frame, Sharon easily dragged the much larger wizard into the circle she'd drawn on the floor. "A second option," Sharon answered. Reaching down, she grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair and yanked. The wizard groaned into consciousness as the sharp pain brought him around. As Sharon stepped out of the circle, the ring glowed a deep red, sealing Harry in. "If Roland proves to be less than adequate, we've got another one we can use."

"Sharon, you don't know what you're messin' with," Harry stated, sounding less than threatening on his hands and knees.

"She's crazy," Roland exclaimed from his area of the room. "They actually think they're going to bring Ethan back to life. They dug him up and-"

"Shut up!" Natalie shouted, rushing up to where he stood.

"Don't cross the circle!" Sharon warned. "Back off, now."

The wizard teetered to his feet and nearly fell forward when his hands hit the invisible wall trapping him in. "Natalie Harper, right?" he identified the enraged woman. "This isn't going to work. Roland is right, you can't bring your son back."

"I've seen her do magic!" Natalie insisted.

"I know she can. I can too. A lot of people can," Harry replied, leaning against the encasing barrier. "But bringing someone back to life is not simple. Did she tell you about the last time she brought someone back?" Natalie remained silent. "He had nightmares, visions. They were driving him insane. Do you really want that for your son?"

Quietly, Natalie approached where Harry stood, her eyes clear. "I know all about what she did last time. And I know this time will be different," she stated, firmly. "It's going to work."

"See?" Sharon smiled. "She's got some faith." From her pocket, the young woman took out a slip of paper with symbols identical to the one Harry had seen after destroying the other Sharon. "Just a little insurance. In case you think the Council's going to save you," she explained to Harry. Taking the hairs she'd ripped from his head, she folded them into the paper before releasing it. The white strip hovered in the air for a moment before elongating and taking shape. Soon, Harry was staring at himself, complete with even the same clothes he was wearing.

"Jesus…" Roland gaped.

"Go outside," Sharon ordered the Dresden doppelganger. "If anyone comes, distract them. Make sure they don't come in here." The double nodded and left. "Now, that's take care of," Sharon checked her watch. "It's time to start."

Nodding, Natalie walked back over to second circle and pulled back the blankets. Underneath was the small body of Ethan Bennett. The passing of two years had decayed the body, but the clothing it was wearing was brand new, having been dressed recently. Harry slid his hand against the barrier. The seal wasn't permanent, but it would last for at least an hour. By then, Roland would be dead. He had to figure out a way to weaken the walls faster. In frustration he slammed his fist against it, only earning himself a bruised hand.

_Think, think,_ he ordered himself, rubbing his throbbing hand. His fingers brushed against the familiar leather and metal of his defensive bracelet. The wizard paused. It was a long shot, but considering at the moment he had no shots at all, it was worth a try. He looked up to see Sharon now had her back to him as she stood in between the circle closing in Roland and the circle enclosing Ethan. The sorcereress remained staff-less as she raised her left hand toward where Roland stood.

Unlike the resurrection spell Harry had seen Bob perform in the morgue all those months ago, there was no lightening and no screams of pain. Instead, a blue light began to swirl up from the perimeters of Roland's circle, wrapping around the man and tunneling upward. The man's head involuntarily threw backwards and he gasped as if his body was being thrown into a tub of cold water.

Her attention now elsewhere, Harry took the opportunity and pushed his energy into the defensive bracelet and pressed his wrist against the barrier. The wall remained solid, but he could feel the bracelet heat up on his skin, fighting against the barricade. Gritting his teeth, he pressed harder, feeling the seal weaken against the attack. As Harry continued to shove and press, the tail of the funneling light around Roland continued to speed upward and travel into Sharon's extended hand. As it did so, she lifted her other arm and pointed toward Ethan, directing the energy. The air hummed as the blue light traveled, encircling Ethan's body.

Knowing he was running out of time, the wizard pressed harder, biting back a cry of pain as the bracelet doubled in heat, searing his wrist. The light was now wrapped around Ethan's body. But even through the haze, it seemed the decayed flesh was now smoothing over and the brittle, dead hair was growing softer. As the energy traveled through Sharon, the sorceress' body grew stiff and twitched in bursts and fits.

"It's working," Natalie breathed, her eyes on her son.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek hard, drawing blood as he gave one last burst of energy into his bracelet and shoved. Suddenly, he was on his face, on the ground outside of the circle. Scrambling to his feet, the wizard shot off into a run toward where Roland stood. While his wrist shrieked in pain, he activated his bracelet once more and tackled the stiff man with all ferocity of a football star. As Harry flew through the air, passing through the light, he felt a coldness that nearly ate into his bones. But just as he thought he wouldn't be able to breath again through the ice, he felt warmer as both he and Roland toppled through on the other side.

Harry gasped, shuddering against the lingering chill. Beneath him, he felt Roland suck in a lungful and cough violently. The air around them hissed and stuttered as the energy source for the spell was now absent. Disoriented, the wizard could only hear Natalie scream from somewhere in the room as the humming began to die down. Pounding footsteps were coming in their direction and Harry ordered his limbs that felt like lead to move and defend already.

But the footsteps abruptly stopped and suddenly the air was now howling.

A blast of light nearly blinded the wizard as he threw up an arm against the explosion of blue illumination. The funnel that had been slowing down now swirled even faster as it sucked and pulled out the life of Natalie Harper who had run into the circle to take Roland's place. The spell Sharon had so carefully measured out was now overloading as a brand new life took over the already partially used one. The light sped across the room through Sharon who seized where she stood as it pounded through her and covered Ethan's body. The wind screamed and shrieked as the light grew brighter and brighter.

And then as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

The light was gone and the room was silent. Harry got to enjoy the peace for a moment before a hand clamped down on his arm. The wizard made an attempt at a punch before he recognized the flexing knuckles on him.

"Morgan," he greeted. Standing above him was the tall warden, flanked by two others. All looked less than happy, though Morgan seemed to be winning with his deep frown by a hair. "It's her. Sharon," Harry stated. He looked over to where the sorcereress had last been standing and saw she was now on her knees, a third warden standing over her with a vicious looking knife against the back of her neck. Long strands of hair obscured Sharon's face from the wizard's view.

"Thanks for joining us," said Harry.

"We were momentarily detained by your double," replied Morgan.

"How'd you figure out it wasn't me?"

"There were a few indicators," Morgan stated, nearly shaking off the wizard as Harry tried to use the enforcer as leverage to get to his feet. "The most telling being that you dissolved when I ran you through," he said, his sword in hand.

"Uh…how SURE were you that it wasn't me when you stabbed it?" Harry asked.

"Quite sure," Morgan said, offering little comfort as he gestured one of two next to him to check on Natalie's fallen form. Her green eyes were still open in an expression of shock. But they were merely frozen as the woman was clearly dead. Harry broke off staring at the dead woman when Roland groaned next to him. Reaching down, Harry steadied the man who swayed into a sitting position.

"It's okay, Roland," Harry assured. "It's over."

Roland blinked lethargically at the wizard, but with each passing second, Harry could see the dark eyes becoming alert. "Ethan," he rasped. "What happened with…?"

Harry and Morgan looked to the second circle. Inside lay a small boy, wearing clothes that were maybe a little too big for him, but ones that he might soon grow into. Harry could feel the wardens in the room stiffen, clenching the weapons in their hands. Only Morgan's sword remained as lax as before as the enforcer stared at the still figure. Roland lurched to his feet and fell back down again on this hands and knees. Ignoring the sharp crack of pain, he pushed himself back up and stumbled toward the body.

"Roland, wait!" Harry warned.

Disregarding the wizard, Roland reached the second circle. Whatever had been done, the body was no longer decayed. The skin was once again pink and smooth as any child's. With a shaking hand, Roland touched his son's face and gasped at the warmth he could feel on his fingers. Hearing the sharp intake of breath, Ethan stirred.

Raising a hand, the boy rubbed his eyes, as if merely scrubbing away the last bit of sleep and sat up. "Dad?"

"Ethan…" Roland whispered, unbelievingly.

"I had a weird dream."

With a sob, Roland pulled his son into a fierce embrace. He could feel the steady beat of Ethan's heart against his own chest, the small puffs of warm breaths against his neck. And he was suddenly reminded of the last time he'd held his son and how all these things had been absent then. Ethan's small fingers touched Roland's hair in a concerned gesture as the man tightened his arms around him and began to shake.

"Dad? Why're you crying?"


	10. Chapter 10

Harry had been ready for a fight. He'd been gearing himself up to throw words and fists should Morgan order the wardens to pull Ethan from his father and take him away. But to his surprise, the enforcer only re-sheathed his sword after checking to see his third didn't need any assistance in holding onto Sharon.

"Take her in," he ordered. "I'll follow you shortly." As his orders were mutely carried out, Morgan walked over to where his other two wardens stood for a quiet conversation. Harry took the momentary lull to walk over to Roland still sat, hugging Ethan until the boy began to complain a little that he couldn't breathe. The man gave a violent jerk when Harry put a hand to his shoulder.

"It's okay," Harry assured, not missing the fact he addressing Ethan instead. "Everything will be okay," he repeated, wondering if out of all the things he could have said, that had been completely the wrong one. Things could quite possibly go as far from okay as possible.

"Dad, who's that?" Ethan asked, staring up at the wizard.

At his son's question, Roland finally seemed to break out of the trance he'd been in. Taking a quick swipe at his face, the shop owner released the grip he had on his son, though he left a lingering hand on the boy's shoulder. "Sorry, Ethan," he murmured instead of answering. The boy frowned, his father's increasingly strange behavior worrying him. Taking it into his own hands, Harry crouched down and did his best at seeming nonchalant. "Hi, I'm Harry," he introduced.

Ethan looked at the offered hand for a minute before taking it with his own small one. It felt warm, pulsing with life. "Ethan Bennett," he introduced with the kind of adult solemnity that only children could accomplish.

"Dresden," Morgan called over. The wizard stood up, waiting for a reprimand, but the enforcer's expression was unreadable as he waved him over. "Patel and I are taking her in," he informed Harry. "You will take the boy and his father back to your home. Erikson and Grayer will accompany you." The wizard took a look at the two wardens who stared back at him with silent assessment. "They have been given strict instructions not to touch the boy while he is under your care."

"Morgan, what's going to happen?" Harry asked, quietly.

"That has yet to be decided."

"The Council can't-"

"I wouldn't advise you to make comments on what the Council can and cannot do right now," the enforcer cut him off. "Take them back to your place. I will see you there shortly after I have spoken to the Council," he instructed.

Harry looked over to where Roland had managed to get to his feet, Ethan's hand still encased in his. The wizard then realized that the two of them actually had no where else to go. The bookstore was now a pile of ash and Charlotte Barquentine was now most likely on a plane to England. Plus, Harry doubted Roland showing up with his deceased son of two years would have gone down well, even with the normally game Charlotte.

"Okay," he agreed.

Morgan clamped a stern hand onto Harry's forearm, forcing the wizard to look at him. "Dresden," he said, quietly. "Don't run."

"Morgan, I'm not going to-"

"I mean it," the warden stressed. "Don't run. You let me handle this." While Harry was used to being given orders by Morgan on a near daily basis, there was something else in the tall man's face that indicated this was more than an order. It was advice. Mutely Harry agreed.

"What about her?" asked the wizard, looking to where Natalie was still sprawled.

"We will deal with it," Morgan replied, seemingly eager to get Harry gone. "Just go home, Dresden. And wait for me there."

* * *

It took close to an hour to usher everyone back to his apartment. And during that time, Harry couldn't help but continuously steal glances over at Ethan, remembering what Bob had told him about the sanity expectancy rate of those resurrected.

But the boy seemed only bewildered by all the strangers around him and a little annoyed when his father insisted on carrying him. Ethan appeared alert and soon looked even a little pleased when he realized how late it was and well past his bedtime.

The bell above Harry's shop gave an inappropriately cheerful jingle when the wizard walked in, followed by the silent troupe behind him. Above the footsteps, Harry could hear Ethan's excited whisper to Roland.

"Dad, it says 'wizard' on the door!"

Despite the situation, Harry smiled faintly at the enthusiastic exclamation.

"Okay," Harry announced, waving casually around his cluttered storefront. "Everyone make themselves comfortable." Ethan slid down from his father's grasp and looked around the storefront with eager eyes. "Ethan, you hungry?" he offered, taking a mental stock of what was in his kitchen. "Hot chocolate?" Realizing that was about the only kid-appropriate food he had in his house.

Ethan looked up at his father. "Can I?"

Roland nodded, shooting Harry a grateful look.

"Coming right up," Harry grinned. He eyed the two silent wardens. "Uh…cocoa?" They stared back at him. "Thought not. Coffee?" It was a little unnerving that they didn't even blink. "Want to stand by the door and look menacing?" he finally offered. He took their immobile silence as a yes and moved into the kitchen. He'd been expecting it, but still he inwardly winced when he saw the pale figure of Bob staring past his shoulder toward the room he'd just walked in from.

"You were too late," the ghost stated.

"Roland's alive," Harry said, busying himself with digging his cabinets for mugs.

"And so is the boy." Harry pulled a thing of milk from his fridge to heat up in on a well-burnt pan.

"He seems fine," the wizard interjected, banging glasses and stomping around with more volume than usual as if to drown out the conversation they were having. But the talk soon ceased regardless as Bob moved further toward the hallway, staring at the small figure who'd settled himself next to Roland on Harry's large couch. The two were talking quietly to one another, though it looked like the child was doing most of the talking. There was still a vaguely stunned expression on Roland's face as he stared at his son, not even daring to blink, lest he suddenly disappear. "Bob, don't. Get back here," Harry whispered, ushering the spirit who had unconsciously gone halfway down the hall.

While Bob kept his eyes glued on Ethan, he obligingly stepped back into the safety of the kitchen area. As the milk continued to heat, Harry leaned against the counter, his arms crossed in a nervous gesture. "Sharon's been taken in. Morgan has her. He told me to wait here for him." The wizard rubbed his tired face with both hands as he thought over the night's events. "It was Natalie. Ethan's mom. She used herself after I got Roland out." Harry looked up to see that the ghost was still staring in Ethan's direction. "Bob!" he stage whispered.

The spirit snapped his head back toward Harry. "Sorry," he apologized, faintly.

"I need to figure out what the Council is going to do," Harry said. "What they're going to do to Ethan."

The wizard could see it was taking some effort on Bob's part not to look back toward the boy. "It would depend," he began, haltingly. "The spell…the instigators of it have been caught…" he continued, but broke off to stare into the other room again, Ethan giggled at something his father had said. Harry could tell that it was taking a considerable amount of effort on the ghost's part not to go in and get a closer look.

"Bob," Harry said with a little less frustration. "I need you to focus here."

"He sounds so…normal," the ghost murmured. "He hasn't…"

"No," Harry agreed. "It's been a little over an hour now. But he seems fine. Healthy." Bob didn't reply to that as he merely tore his eyes away and looked back to the wizard. "Bob," Harry began, uneasily. "I need to know so that I can prepare Roland." The ghost nodded, though he remained silent as the pale eyes fell downward. "What happened the last time?"

"I tried to hide her," Bob answered, softly. "I thought I only needed more time to fix what had happened. I didn't know then that it was already too late." The ghost was still, even as he spoke and as he continued, Harry saw that the figure was growing paler. "When they found us, she'd begged me countless times to let her end." There was a pause as the ghost released a breath. Without knowing it, Harry realized he'd been holding his breath as well. "They showed her a mercy that I refused her," he finished, almost inaudibly.

"Bob…" Harry knew the unfairness of the situation. That the ghost be all but forced to share the life he'd privately held to himself in the wake of a case. And the wizard wanted to tell him to stop and to never mind having to relive the past. That it wasn't necessary for Bob to remember the memories that seared themselves into his soul, more painful and agonizing than any curse. But there were little other options. "What if Ethan just stayed as he is now? What if he stayed normal?"

"It's never happened before, Harry," Bob replied. "He would be the first."

"Is there a way to tell if Sharon's spell worked?" asked the wizard. "With Kelton, you were able to feel inside and figure out what was wrong with him. Can you do the same thing for Ethan?"

"What would that do?"

"It'd be something we could tell the Council. If the spell was successful, they might not…undo it," Harry reasoned.

Bob looked over to Ethan again before turning his attention to back to Harry. "You'll have to ask his father," the ghost pointed out, tiredly.

Harry nodded, but tried to catch Bob's eye with a small smile. "Thank you," he said, gratefully. There was a slight beat before the wizard awkwardly continued, "I know this…it's been bad…for you and-"

"You've left it too long," Bob interrupted.

"What?"

The spirit nodded to something behind Harry. "The milk," he clarified. "It's boiled through."

Spinning around, the wizard saw the milk had all but evaporated in the pan, ruined. "Crap," he muttered, turning off the heat. He'd have to start again. But when he'd turned around to finish his conversation with Bob first, he saw the ghost was gone.

* * *

"Hot chocolate," Harry presented after his second attempt. He placed a mug of the sweetly steaming drink in front of both Roland and Ethan. The boy carefully blew on his cup before taking a tentative sip. "How is it?"

"Mmmm…" Ethan replied, taking a longer drink.

"Best compliment I've gotten," Harry grinned. As Ethan busied himself with the hot drink, Harry pulled a small flask from his pocket and waved it surreptitiously toward Roland who appreciatively held his cup out for a generous dollop.

"Are you really a wizard?" Ethan asked from the top of his mug. "Like, magic and stuff?"

"Ethan," Roland said with a slight warning.

"But Dad, he has it on his door," the boy protested.

"No, it's okay," Harry assured. He glanced at the two wardens who continued to stare at the trio, seemingly having only been given orders to observe and report. "I am," he admitted. "But it's not as fun as it sounds." Ethan didn't look particularly convinced. "I need to talk to your dad for a minute. Mind if I take him?"

"Uh, I'm not sure," Roland interjected for the first time. His hand had always remained on Ethan's shoulder.

"Roland, it's okay. We'll just be in the other room," Harry assured. "It'll be fine," he added, indicating the two watching wardens. But the former shop owner only looked stubborn and unrelenting as he stayed where he was. "Please, it's important."

There was a momentary war in Roland's eyes, but finally the dark-haired man nodded before turning to his son. "Ethan, I have to go talk to Mr. Dresden."

"Dad, I know. He just said," Ethan pointed out.

"Don't move from here until I get back, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise me? Don't go anywhere."

The frown on Ethan's face only deepened at his father's continued odd behavior. "I promise." He continued to frown, but leaned in, nearly spilling the hot chocolate, when Roland pressed a kiss into his hair before getting up to follow Harry.

Kindly, the wizard positioned them down the hall so that Roland could face out and get a clear view of his son. "We need to talk about a few things," Harry began. Roland nodded mutely before suddenly pressing the hot mug against the sensitive underside of his arm. "What're you doing?" he asked as the man hissed at the painful contact.

"Sorry," Roland replied, scrubbing a hand across his face. "I just…I keep expecting to wake up. I feel like I'm in some sort of wonderful…nightmare." He looked up at the sympathetic wizard with a near pleading look. "This is real, right? Ethan's alive? Whatever Natalie and that woman did, it worked?"

"Yeah, it worked," Harry said, grudgingly. The hesitation was not lost on Roland.

"But something's wrong," he said, fear in his eyes. "Something's not right."

"We're not sure yet," said Harry, wanting to find some sort of balance between not panicking Roland, but not wanting to fool him into a false sense of security. "Resurrection is not a run of the mill spell that we do," he began. "It's forbidden for one. And it's never been successful."

"But it worked with Ethan."

"Bringing someone back physically is only half the problem. The harder part is making sure they're all here. Mentally."

Roland's untouched drink continued to steam as he thought over the evening. "You said something before, back at the warehouse," he recalled. "About how people had nightmares and that it made them crazy." Roland's already pale face grew a shade whiter. "Is that what's going to happen to Ethan?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "It usually starts an hour after the person comes back and it's been over that by now."

"Those people you were with," Roland asked. "When they come back are they going to take him away?"

"Maybe."

"Like hell," Roland whispered.

"Roland, they're not people you can fight."

"I don't care. Ethan's here. And he's my son. They can't just take him. They have no right!"

"Shh! Calm down," Harry ordered, looking over his own shoulder to make sure no one else heard. "The Council isn't your biggest concern right now. What they decide we'll deal with it then. But the bigger problem is to figure out if Ethan is going to get worse."

"And what if he does?" Roland asked, fearfully.

They'd reached the point in the conversation Harry had been dreading. There was no gentle or easy way of telling the man the choices available to him, or rather the only choice available to him should Ethan's mind start to deteriorate. But before he even had a chance to try and ease his way into the discussion, his expression had given him away.

"Oh my god," Roland breathed.

"Roland, you don't know-"

"No."

"Listen to me," Harry hissed. "I hope to god that it doesn't come to that. But I can't lie to you about this. And believe me, if the nightmares come for Ethan, it'll be a thousand times worse than dying. I promise you that."

"But how can you know that for sure?" Roland demanded, his hand shaking so much the hot chocolate now split a little down the side. "How do you know?"

"Because I've seen it," Harry answered, thinking about Kelton Franks. "And I have a friend who has too."

With forced calm, Roland set the cup down on Harry's counter, his breathing audible. "Is there a way to figure it out before it starts to happen?" he asked, quietly.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. My friend, the one I mentioned earlier. He can examine your son and see if the spell worked. He's kind of an expert on this kind of thing."

"How long will it take him to get here?"

A wry smile peeked out on Harry's lips. "Like a minute," he replied. "Listen, it's going to be a little weird, but don't freak out, okay?"

Roland laughed suddenly. Not his usual bitter laugh, but one that made it sound as if he found Harry's comment to be genuinely hilarious. "You're kidding, right? After tonight nothing can freak me out. Your friend can be a ghost for all I care."

"Funny you should say that…"

* * *

There was a different look to Roland Bennett since Bob had seen him last. It had been less than a day, but the man had a different aura about him all together. A sunny disposition was hardly ever going to be a part of Roland's personality, but it was the fact that Bob could now almost see Roland's personality that made all the difference. It was still swathed in old traumas and a grief that the man had not quite let go of yet. But underneath it, the ghost could see the living part of Roland Bennett, reaching up and struggling to surface.

Right now, Bennett was doing a good job of not gaping too much at him as Harry explained the logistics of what he proposed to do.

"It won't hurt him?" Roland asked.

"It'll be a little cold," Harry admitted.

"But you're going to be sticking your hand INTO Ethan's chest?" Roland reiterated, addressing Bob this time. There was still a look of protective distrust on the man's face. Something that endeared him to the ghost, rather than offend.

"If it would ease your mind, Mr. Bennett," Bob offered. "We can wait until your son is asleep." Roland continued to hesitate. "I promise to be as quick as possible."

"Alright," Roland relented, none too pleased, but willing. "When he's asleep." He looked back to where Ethan continued to dutifully sit, but was now fidgeting against boredom.

"When can we go home?" Ethan asked when his father wandered back out to join him on the couch.

Roland looked up at Harry, who didn't have an answer for him before he replied. "We can't, Ethan," he said, gently. "There was a fire. The bookstore's gone."

"What?" A look of dismay shadowed the boy's small face. "But…our house!"

"It'll be okay," Roland assured. For the first time since he'd returned, Ethan looked frightened. "We'll figure it out."

"But where are we going to sleep?" Ethan asked, hitting on a more immediate problem.

"You can stay here," Harry proposed, quickly. "Plenty of room," he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. But the boy continued to look worried as he stared up at his father.

"Dad, is everything gone?" he asked.

"Our things are," Roland said, still keeping Ethan close. "But we can replace those. You're still here," he continued, his voice becoming hoarser as he thought about the uncertainty of the next few hours. "I won't let anything happen to you." He pulled back to look at his son's still anxious face. "Don't be scared, Ethan," he assured with more confidence. "Nothing bad's going to happen to you. I promise."

While the subject had shifted from the loss of their property to something else, completely. The assurance seemed to be what Ethan needed and the boy soon nodded, pressing himself closer to his father with the kind of trust children had for their parents. Seeing it, Harry remembered from experience that there was never a comfort quite so absolute as the one a child got from their loving parent.

* * *

As the night wore on, it was obvious Ethan was growing sleepier. He asked his father if it were possible to get a bedtime story read to him. While normally Roland almost always had books in his coat, he realized all his possessions were still at the police station and any other books he'd owned were now ashes. Harry had taken a quick look around his apartment and found nothing that would be appropriate for a boy Ethan's age. And he doubted one of the wardens would be willing to run out to a Barnes and Noble for them.

"This is all I have," Harry said, discovering the book he'd self-purchased back at Fallen Books before the place went up in flames. "Umm...not sure if it's usable," he added, seeing for the first time that it was the collected short stories of Oscar Wilde.

"It's fine," Roland said, plucking the rescued book from the wizard's hand. He ignored the irony of the first story being the "Canterville Ghost." He thanked Harry when the wizard offered up his loft upstairs. As Roland settled in to read to Ethan, Harry and Bob waited downstairs.

With the child now drifting off, the ghost wandered to stand just below the loft area, listening to Roland read aloud. There were periodically sleepy interruptions from Ethan who asked questions here or there about the story. But they grew less and less as soon he fell asleep. But even after losing his audience, Roland continued to read. Even without seeing his face, Bob could tell the pleasure the man seemed to be savoring at getting a chance to read to his child again. There was a reverence and respect to which Roland gave the act as he continued and eventually finished.

After an extended silence, Bob looked over to Harry who silently eyed the wardens. They were still observing them, but made no move to prevent the examination, their expressions betraying nothing. Shrugging, Harry nodded to the ghost who went upstairs, taking care to use the stairs instead of swirling up there, lest he startle Roland.

The man was half sitting, half lying down on Harry's unmade bed. Beside him, Ethan was cozily tucked into the blankets, breathing steadily. Bob saw the dark rings around Roland's eyes and the clear exhaustion from the day's events now catching up to him. But despite it, he was fighting to stay awake to keep watch over his son. The ghost remembered doing the same the first night Winifred slept, having only just returned. There had been the irrational fear that the only thing keeping her breathing and by his side was his own watch over. That should he succumb to sleep, death would return in the night and steal her away again. It had two days and nights before he'd finally allowed himself to sleep. But then he'd awakened to a different nightmare all together.

Gently, Bob cleared his throat.

Roland's eyes flickered up. "He's only just gone to sleep," he whispered.

"Then we can wait a little longer," Bob said.

Time passed as the ghost stood a little away from the two figures on the bed.

"Dresden said you're an expert when it comes to this," Roland said, quietly. "What does that mean?"

The question was expected and Bob kept his face expressionless when he answered. "I performed a similar spell when I was alive."

"Similar how?"

"I brought someone back. Only I was not completely successful," said the ghost.

Roland studied him, his tired mind trying to connect the dots without having to ask all the questions on his mind. "Is that why you're still here?" he asked. "Dresden said bringing someone back to life wasn't allowed in your…circles."

"He's correct."

"How long ago was that?"

"I think he's asleep now," Bob said instead, indicating Ethan's deeply breathing form.

While Roland hesitated, he relented to the spirit's evasion and nodded. Bob moved forward, kneeling down by the low bed on Ethan's side. The boy was on his back, breathing softly with an openly tranquil look on his face. Bob reached forward with one hand and slowly, but precisely sunk his fingers into the small chest. Ethan shifted a little at the cool touch, prompting Roland to soothingly stroke his son's hair. But Ethan continued to sleep as Bob examined him.

When Bob had examined Kelton Franks, he had been able to feel the wound left over from Sharon's work. Perhaps the first time his soul had attempted to heal itself, but the repeated deaths and reincarnations had left a permanent fracture in the man's essence that had ceased to try and repair. It had remained raw, gaping and painful.

But in Ethan, the ghost couldn't feel anything. At least, nothing unusual. Ethan had the essence of a normal, human boy. And while there was faintly, ever so faintly the barest hint of a wrinkle somewhere deep inside of him, the spell had been flawless. Ethan had been completely resurrected. Body and soul.

"It's perfect," Bob whispered, withdrawing his hand. Roland held his breath, staring at the spirit. As he held onto his overwhelming hope, the man missed the wealth of emotions that chased themselves across the ghost's pale face before he stood up. "Your son is alive," he said, walking further from the bed and keeping his expression hidden. "He's perfectly alive."


	11. Chapter 11

Aaaand the conclusion. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review!

* * *

It was nearly dawn when Morgan arrived at Harry's apartment. Despite the late or early hour, the warden looked fresh and alert. The same could not be said for Harry who'd slept in fits while nursing the aching burn on his wrist from his own shield bracelet. But the wizard had immediately gotten to his feet to intercept the warden with the information Bob had related to him after examining Ethan. 

Harry wasn't entirely sure, but he somehow got the feeling that the enforcer had been half expecting a report like this. Not so much the results, the report itself. As if he knew Harry would have done some digging during the wait. And had left Ethan specifically in his care in order to do so.

"The spell worked," Morgan surmised.

"Seem so. They're both sleeping upstairs now." Harry waited for Morgan to continue with his end of the information, but the warden only lifted his eyes to the loft area and nodded. "What about Sharon?" asked the wizard.

"She is no longer your concern," Morgan replied. "She is in our custody and has been taken in for trial."

"Her spell worked," Harry repeated, not having to say aloud what the consequences of a successful resurrection spell might mean.

"Not in the way she'd planned, however," Morgan said. "According to her, the spell was worked with the idea in mind of using the father, who'd been treated with the tagging spell for nearly a year. Instead, only a portion of him was used before the boy's mother, a woman untreated, was used. There are too many variables. The spell may have worked, but by mere chance, rather than preparation."

It was of the warden's opinion that the spell might have worked, regardless of the random errors that had occurred. The sorcereress had described the method in which she'd eased Ethan Bennett's soul back toward the living, while systematically taking small bits and pieces of others' souls as recompense to the darkness. And in some cases, much larger chunks. It had been a laborious process that had stretched for nearly year, testing her patience. But the methodical, patient nature of the spell had been its strength. And perhaps in the end, the key factor that allowed Ethan Bennett to re-enter the world with gentle ease, rather than a harsh drop.

"So what happens now?" asked Harry, breaking Morgan from his thoughts. "What about Roland and Ethan?"

The warden sighed and for the first time, betrayed a hint of exhaustion. "The Council has been in session all evening. I have given my report. And now you have given me one," he listed. "There will be several more days for me to observe the child myself as we prepare."

"Prepare for what?" asked Harry with some apprehension.

Morgan gave him the well-worn "you ask stupid questions" stare. "Bennett and his son cannot remain in Chicago. There are too many who could potentially recognize the child. They will be moved to a safe haven."

"What…you mean…to start a new life?" Harry questioned.

"What else would it mean, Dresden?" Morgan retorted, irritably.

Harry didn't stop the grin that broke out on his face. "You're letting them go?"

"Hardly. There will always be someone watching them. Even when they are settled elsewhere," said the warden. "The Council is disturbed by these events, but it was argued that an innocent life need not be punished for another's deeds." Harry didn't ask who exactly argued that, seeing as how he didn't want to embarrass the stoic enforcer. "In the end, the presiding Merlin has given his word that no harm shall fall upon them."

"Thank you," Harry breathed out, relieved. "It's gotta be a historical one. First successful resurrection."

"Was it successful?" asked Morgan with a raised eyebrow.

"I just told you-"

"There's a difference between a successful spell and a working one," Morgan stated, seriously. "From what Sharon has testified, the mother hired her to perform a resurrection so that she might be with her son. The son is here, but at the cost of the mother's life. In the end, they are still not together. I would not call that a success."

Harry considered the words, giving the enforcer a bemused smile. "Morgan, didn't know you were so philosophical."

"There's a lot you don't know, Dresden," he replied. "Which shouldn't surprise any of us." The warden noted the time. "I will return at a decent hour later today. Be sure that both the father and son are ready to come with us. We will be supervising their move."

Harry gestured to the two wardens from before who still not moved. "Are you taking the twin beefeaters with you?"

Morgan scowled, but gave a dismissing nod to them. "10am. Don't be late."

"Hey, wait a second," Harry suddenly realized. "The police are still going to want an answer. What do I tell them about Sharon?"

"That is none of my concern, Dresden," Morgan answered, opening the door to leave.

"Morgan, you've met Murphy. She's gonna kill me if I leave her with this!"

"Then I suppose she will kill you."

"Morgan!"

"Good morning, Dresden."

* * *

A day after Morgan had returned to collect Roland and his son, Harry's phone rang. Guessing it was Murphy, the wizard prepped himself for an earful, only to hear from the lieutenant that Sharon and Natalie Harper had been found. 

"Found?" Harry didn't bother to hide his shock.

"Well, what's left of them. Dental records had to be used to get a positive match."

Apparently there had been a car crash that had ended with Sharon's vehicle exploding. By a stroke of luck, Roland hadn't been in the car and was soon found, tied up inside a warehouse. The man had been tired, frightened, but no permanent damage done. He'd put in his statement to Murphy that the woman who'd kidnapped him had spoken about using him in some deranged ritual.

"That sound right to you?" Murphy asked. Her voice remained purposefully flat, betraying nothing.

"Yeah," Harry answered, taking in the details. _Roland must not be such a bad actor._ "That sounds about right." _Right for the Council's version of the witness protection program. They love explosions more than a Die Hard film. _

"Fine," Murphy relented. "The kidnappers have been taken care of and an innocent man has been cleared. Worked out pretty well." The words were happy, but the lieutenant sounded less than pleased.

"It did all work out, Murphy," Harry insisted. "It did. Trust me."

"Yeah," she said after awhile. "Guess I do."

Like many others, Harry didn't think so far as to suppose the Council's orchestration of Sharon's death was a little more intricate than it seemed. Harry didn't consider how simple it would be for a skilled wizard to make a simple switch in the files so that the dental records of one person be replaced with another without anyone knowing. Or that perhaps the body found in that wreckage was not Sharon, but a woman who was already listed as dead. And while Natalie Harper's body did burn, the body of a sorceress had a more elaborate resting place.

There was a small crypt, tucked away just outside of the city. A private area paid for by an unknown benefactor. As far as anyone could tell, it was a family plot. But only a small handful were aware of a specific body that lay inside an unseen stony chamber, especially carved out. And while just as dead as Natalie Harper's, the body inside was additionally wrapped and bound by sigil decorated sheets, ensuring no one would ever see her. Or find her. Like Merlin inside his invisible cave, the body would be lost, forgotten. As would the soul eternally trapped within its bones.

* * *

Nearly week after Harry had witnessed his successful resurrection, Ethan Bennett returned to the wizard's store with his father in tow. Harry was a little surprise and amused to learn that personal appearance was never at the top of Roland's list, even when the man wasn't buried in anguish. The former shop owner's hair was a mess as before and while the clothing looked new, they were already rumpled and haphazardly thrown on. 

"Hey, Ethan!" Harry greeted, cheerfully as the boy ran up to him.

"Mr. Dresden, we're moving to Boston!" he said, excitedly. "Dad got a job there."

"Let me guess. Bookstore?" Harry smiled.

"Teaching, actually," Roland supplied. While he had considerably less energy than his son, the man looked pleased all the same. "It's what I was doing before."

"Really?"

Roland smiled understandingly at Harry's obvious surprise. "I wasn't always unpleasant, you know."

"So, everyone been treating you well?" the wizard asked. He noticed Morgan and one other warden waiting around just outside the store. Following Harry's look, Roland nodded.

"It's the strangest thing. I feel like I'm being watched by Big Brother, but he's also been kind enough to find me a place to live, a job and even give me a list of schools for Ethan to attend."

"Not such a bad deal," Harry surmised.

"No, not bad at all," Roland agreed. "Anyway, we couldn't leave without saying goodbye first."

"We have presents," Ethan added, gripping a square package in his hand.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Dad got you an envelope," Ethan stated, his voice clearly giving away his opinion of the gift. "I got you a book," he said, proudly handing the package over to Harry.

"Oh yeah?" Deftly, the wizard managed to unwrap the gift without ripping the paper completely. From underneath the blue packaging slid out a small paperback. "Howl's Moving Castle," Harry read the cover aloud.

"It's about a wizard," said Ethan, eagerly. "You'll like it."

"He wanted to get you a book about wizards," Roland added. "And Harry Potter seemed a little too obvious."

"Thanks, Ethan," Harry said, appreciatively. "It's great."

"And this is mine," Roland handed over a small, flat envelope. "It's not about wizards, I'm afraid."

Opening it, Harry saw it held a check. The amount however, made the wizard blink. "Roland…I can't take this."

"It's just the insurance I had on the bookstore for fire damage."

"But…it's your money. It's way more than what I'd ever charge," said Harry, pushing the check back toward him.

"Mr. Dresden," Roland stopped him, shoving the check back. "Nothing I do for you for the rest of my life and nothing I ever give you will be enough," he said, plainly. But he could see the embarrassment in Harry's eyes and changed his tactics. "Alright, if it makes you that uncomfortable, then consider it my investment."

"In what?"

"In you. I'd like to know that you'll still be here if ever I need to talk to you again," said Roland. "And it'll be good knowing that in the mean time, you'll be able to continue to do what you do. Helping people."

Harry hesitated, but saw that Roland wasn't planning on leaving with the check. With a grateful, somewhat self-conscious smile, he accepted the payment. "Thank you."

Roland returned the smile. "If it isn't too much trouble, I wonder if I might have a word with your friend," he said, quietly.

The wizard looked back toward the hallway, knowing Bob was probably inside the lab, though able to hear the conversation going on outside. "Sure," he said. "Straight down. He'll come out."

"Ethan, stay with Mr. Dresden for a minute while I have a word with his associate," Roland instructed.

"Sure." Ethan eagerly agreed, wanting to spend more time with the self-proclaimed wizard.

* * *

Roland did his best not to flinch too much when the ghost appeared from out of the wall when he'd gone halfway down the hallway. It amazed the man how solid the spirit looked and how incredibly human. _Then again,_ he supposed. _All ghosts were humans once.  
_

"You wished to speak to me, Mr. Bennett?" Bob inquired, politely.

"I've spent the last week surrounded by wardens and council members. It's kind of incredible how much they talk," Roland marveled.

"Indeed," the ghost agreed.

"Anyway," Roland continued. "I heard a couple of them talking about this wizard, who lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago. About how he was the first one who attempted to bring someone back from the dead." While the spirit's face remained expressionless, Roland could see the pale eyes harden slightly. "He's famous now for having been punished for it by being trapped on earth forever."

"I think you mean infamous," Bob corrected, humorlessly.

"Were you really the first one to try and bring back someone?" Roland asked.

"Was there something in particular you wished to speak with me about?" Bob asked, instead. "Other than my past sins?"

"I wanted to thank you," said Roland, softly. "Because of you, my son's alive."

The ghost gave him a regretful smile. "No, Mr. Bennett," he replied. "I'm afraid because of me, many people are dead."

Roland remained silent to that. He searched his mind to come up with something else to say, to contradict the ghost's claim. But he quickly realized that the grief inside the spirit was just as impenetrable as his had been for the last two years. Perhaps even more so. And pain that etched in was something Roland could respect enough to leave alone. So, he only nodded and turned to go.

"If I might ask," Bob suddenly stopped him, as if he had a second thought. "How do you feel?" Roland gave him a confused frown. "Having your son back. The sensation of it. How does it feel?" There was a slight urgency in the ghost's tone.

"When Ethan died, I felt like I'd somehow stopped," Roland explained. "It's like I was moving, but I was half asleep or I'd somehow died, but my body was still functioning and I was waiting for it to catch up to me."

"And now?"

"Now…" Roland considered the question. "I feel alive."

Taking in the comment, Bob nodded, the pale eyes betraying more sadness than he would have liked. What Roland had described, he'd never experienced with Winifred. He'd felt only anger and a determination to force back what he'd been certain was his to reclaim. And when she'd opened her eyes, he'd felt a triumph that had soon diminished with each passing day. But he'd never, as Roland had simply put it, felt the bliss of feeling alive.

And while he felt envious of him, Roland's words brought an odd sense of hope for the ghost. That even in the worst of sins, something might be salvaged.

"That is good to know, Mr. Bennett," he replied. "Very good."

* * *

When Roland returned to the storefront, he found Ethan listing off to Harry the books the wizard should really try and get a hold of. Roland smiled when he saw Harry dutifully writing down the names on a scrap of paper. 

"Ethan, it's time to go."

"Okay." The boy reluctantly slid out of his seat, but gave the wizard a bright smile. "Maybe we'll come and visit sometime?"

Harry nodded. "I'd like that. When you come back, you can quiz me on how many of these books I've gotten through."

Ethan agreed and though only a child, said goodbye to Harry with a very grown-up handshake. When the wizard shook Roland's hand, he told him that should he need anything or have any questions, to not hesitate to call. "I'm pre-paid up," said Harry.

"Thank you, Mr. Dresden. I hope I'll see you again soon."

With a last wave and some impatient stares from Morgan and the waiting warden, Roland and Ethan Bennett were gone. Harry stood by his open doorway and watched as the two rounded the corner with the wardens. Once they were gone from his sight, Harry closed the door and found that at some point, Bob had come to stand next to him to watch their departure.

Without wanting to look too obvious, Harry carefully studied Bob from the corner of his eye. He noted with relief that he didn't look any paler than usual, nor could the wizard sense any unrelenting misery and anguish pouring out from him. Instead, the ghost simply looked sad as he stared out the window. And strangely, that observation hit Harry harder.

"Bob? You okay?"

"Fine, thank you," he replied, curtly.

"It's a nice day," Harry tried. "Want to go out?"

The ghost looked over to his former student and saw the awkward attempt he was making to try and cheer him up.

"No," he answered. "But thank you, Harry," he added, gratefully.

"Bob, come on. You always said you should get out more," Harry pressed. "Today's a good day. No rain, no snow. Temperature's just about right. You're even dressed for it as you are."

"You go and enjoy it, Harry," Bob replied, kindly. "Really. I wish to stay inside."

The wizard fidgeted uneasily with the cord of his blinds. "If you want to talk about anything…" he offered.

"Thank you. I will keep that in mind," said Bob. "Now, go," he urged. "I will see you later."

There was a faint whoosh as the ghost de-formed into a spiral of smoke and golden lights. Harry watched the trail vanish through the walls, toward the direction of the lab and sighed. He glanced back outside where the day was only growing brighter. He supposed a walk to Jackson Park would be ideal. But after a moment's thought, Harry decided against it. Instead, the wizard walked to his couch, picking up Ethan's gift along the way.

_A potential client might stop by and I shouldn't miss that, _he reasoned. _Or Murphy might call, needing something and god knows if the answering machine can survive another message._

He glanced back toward where Bob had vanished.

_  
Either way, better stay in today. _

Confident in his decision, Harry stretched out on his couch with his new book and began reading.

THE END


End file.
